‘First you kiss me until I’m so damn hot I can’t see straight. Then you run off. And now you’re doing the whole damn thing all over again.’

He searched her face with an intensity that had heat flooding between her thighs. ‘Stop playing hard to get. There’s no need,’ he murmured, his lips a millimetre from hers. ‘Believe me, you’ve already got my full attention.’

She heard her own staggered gasp moments before his lips swooped down in a harsh, punishing kiss. Her fingers fisted convulsively in his shirt, but she could do nothing to resist the powerful, possessive strokes of his tongue. A tidal wave of raw, flaming need rose up from nowhere and cascaded through her. Her head fell back in surrender and his firm, insistent lips suckled the pulse-point in her neck.

‘Kiss me back,’ he urged in a strained whisper.

She lifted shaking arms, circled his neck and did as he asked, all thoughts of resistance gone as the bone-deep longing, the wild crazy thrill of exhilaration fizzed inside her like vintage champagne. Their tongues tangled in a frantic dance. A new, unknown power shimmered through her as he shuddered in response.

He tore his lips away, his breathing as ragged as hers. ‘No more games now. I came here tonight to have you. My hotel’s in the next valley. If we hurry we should be there in ten minutes.’

Dear Reader

I love it when I’m in the process of writing a book and a secondary character yells, ‘Hey, what about me? Don’t I deserve a story of my own?’ So I was chuffed to bits when Juno Delamare did exactly that as I was writing her best mate Daisy’s story in HOT-SHOT TYCOON, INDECENT PROPOSAL.

At the time, Juno didn’t even have a second name; she was just Daisy’s cautious, earnest, tomboy friend. Juno had been hurt badly once, and it had made her prickly and pessimistic and extremely wary of good-looking men. But her honesty, her fortitude and her emotional integrity instantly engaged me. And so, as Daisy’s story unfolded, Juno began to insist I find her a man of her own who could coax her out of her cocoon.

Then, lo and behold, Connor Brody—Daisy’s hero—mentioned he had a long-lost brother. Now, while at first this seemed a remarkably lucky coincidence, I quickly realised Juno had not had a man as dangerous as Mac Brody in mind when she had asked me to find her one true love. Would she be able to cope with this brooding Irish bad boy-turned-Hollywood star who had sealed off his heart at an early age and seduced women only to discard them the instant things got serious? And then I thought, What the hell? I’m the author here—not her. I’ll chuck Juno in at the deep end and see if she floats.

I hope you get the same kick out of watching her—and indeed Mac—struggle to survive the emotional tidal wave that promptly knocks them both flat. Feel free to let me know on heidi@heidi-rice.com

Cheers

Heidi

Heidi Rice was born and bred and still lives in London, England. She has two boys who love to bicker, a wonderful husband who, luckily for everyone, has loads of patience, and a supportive and ever-growing British/French/Irish/American family. As much as Heidi adores ‘the Big Smoke’, she also loves America, and every two years or so she and her best friend leave hubby and kids behind and Thelma and Louise it across the States for a couple of weeks (although they always leave out the driving off a cliff bit). She’s been a film buff since her early teens, and a romance junkie for almost as long. She indulged her first love by being a film reviewer for ten years. Then two years ago she decided to spice up her life by writing romance. Discovering the fantastic sisterhood of romance writers (both published and unpublished) in Britain and America made it a wild and wonderful journey to her first Mills and Boon® novel, and she’s looking forward to many more to come.

Recent books by the same author:

HOT-SHOT TYCOON, INDECENT PROPOSAL
PLEASURE, PREGNANCY AND A PROPOSITION
THE TYCOON’S VERY PERSONAL ASSISTANT

PUBLIC AFFAIR, SECRETLY EXPECTING

BY

HEIDI RICE

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Suzy, for knowing when
a 600-mile road trip is not the way to go
And Daisy, a brilliant author and an even better friend.

Chapter One

STRUGGLING to control her galloping heartbeat, Juno Delamare scanned the arrivals screen at Heathrow’s bustling Terminal Five for details of Flight 155 from Los Angeles. The words ‘In the Arrivals Hall’ winked back at her and her heart stampeded into overdrive.

For goodness’ sake, woman. Get a grip.

Juno jammed her fists into the pockets of her newest jeans—which had a small tear at the knee where she’d been stacking shelves the day before—and took several deep breaths. She had to calm down. She was on a mission here, a very important mission, and she simply did not have time to have a heart attack—it would put a serious crimp in her plans.

When Hollywood heart-throb Mac Brody walked through the arrival gate, she intended to be ready—and in complete control of her faculties—so she could hand him his invitation to her best friend Daisy Dean’s wedding and make sure he agreed to come.

Daisy was marrying millionaire property developer Connor Brody in two weeks’ time and she’d set her heart on reuniting Connor with his long-lost brother at their wedding. So Juno had made it her mission to ensure said little brother came whether he wanted to or not.

How exactly she was going to get him to agree she hadn’t quite figured out yet. But she intended to give it her very best shot. Daisy had helped Juno put her life back together six years ago—when she’d thought she’d never be able to care about anything or anybody again—and she owed her.

Unfortunately, despite Juno’s heartfelt commitment to the cause, when she’d made her secret vow two weeks ago to get Mac Brody to Daisy and Connor’s wedding she hadn’t given a whole lot of thought to the logistics. But now, as zero hour approached in Heathrow’s imposing terminal, the logistics were beginning to choke her.

What if she failed? What if he travelled with a phalanx of bodyguards and she couldn’t get near him? What if he refused to take the invitation if she did get near him? And then there was the coup de grâce. When was the last time she’d even approached a strange man, let alone tried to persuade him to do something? Her powers of persuasion were less than nil where men were concerned.

She didn’t do seduction—she didn’t have the looks, the aptitude or indeed the wardrobe for it. Which meant she would have to appeal to Mac Brody’s better nature. But on the evidence so far, he didn’t have one.

Maybe she’d never met the guy. Maybe she’d never even seen one of his movies, but Juno had been in Daisy’s bright airy kitchen two weeks ago. The morning the letter had arrived…And that had told her all she needed to know about the true character of Mac Brody, Hollywood mega-star and Irish bad boy extraordinaire.

Okay, so he was good-looking—if you went for the tall, dark and dangerous stereotype—but that didn’t alter the fact that beneath all that brooding masculinity was a shallow, arrogant, self-absorbed egotist.

Juno’s temper rose again at the memory of Brody’s callousness.

Daisy had been so excited, so sure the letter would be good news. Only to rip open the envelope and find the wedding invitation she’d sent Brody inside and a note from his agent that stated in one neatly typed sentence that Mr Cormac Brody would not be attending the wedding of his brother Connor and requested that Ms Daisy Dean refrain from contacting him in the future.

The perfunctory note had made Daisy cry, and Daisy hardly ever cried, but almost worse for Juno had been Connor’s reaction. He’d slung his arm round Daisy’s shoulder and told her not to upset herself so. Mac was entitled to his feelings, they’d no right to pressure him into making a commitment he didn’t feel comfortable with and that was the end of the matter. But Juno had watched Connor read the note himself and had seen the sorrow and regret he’d been trying so hard to hide.

What right did Brody have to hurt her friends like that? And worse than that, he hadn’t even had the guts to get his hands dirty and contact them himself.

Juno muscled her way through the waiting crowd and folded her arms over the barrier. Ignoring the insistent rat-a-tat-tat of her heartbeat, she studied the stream of owl-eyed transatlantic passengers flowing through the arrival gate. Her mouth set in a grim line of determination. She’d have to hide her hostility towards him if this was going to work. But whatever happened, she was not going to give Brody the satisfaction of seeing how nervous she was—or how much she had at stake—and she absolutely refused to beg.

It would only make the contemptible man feel more superior.

Juno’s eyes narrowed sharply as she spotted a tall solitary figure strolling down the concourse alone. In contrast to the other travellers, who were rumpled but well dressed, this guy’s clothes were comfortable to the point of being disreputable. Faded denim hung from his lean hips and an ancient LA Dodgers T-shirt stretched across tanned biceps as he lugged a large leather holdall over his shoulder. The matching Dodgers baseball cap had been pushed down so the peak covered his face, but Juno could still see a day’s worth of stubble on his chin, and the wavy black hair that touched broad shoulders.

Could that be Brody? She stared, trying to make up her mind. If it was him, he wasn’t what she’d expected. With his shoulders hunched, his head down and his fingers fisted on the handle of his holdall, the man walking towards her looked as if he was trying to be inconspicuous.

And it was working. But for his height, which towered at least a foot over her own five feet two, Juno guessed no one would have given him a second glance. But then Juno noticed the way the stranger moved and she knew he had to be Mac Brody. He had the exact same loose, languid gait as his brother, Connor.

She jostled her way through the crowd to head him off at the exit gate—her heartbeat bumping right back up to warp speed.

Keeping his eyes on the grey industrial flooring, Mac Brody blanked out the crowd noise and hitched his shoulder to relieve the knot of tension and fatigue.

He’d never been keen on airports, and Heathrow held some bad memories. The last time he’d been here three years back, the paparazzi had been lying in wait to ambush him. It had been less than a week after his public bust-up with supermodel Regina St Clair—and a mere two days after Gina had sold her story to the press and branded him a coke-snorting wild man who bedded a different woman every night.

Gina’s X-rated fantasies might have been funny—but for the fact that a lot of people had believed her and the fallout had followed him around like a monkey on his back ever since. The press had smelled blood that day, and they hadn’t let him alone since. He’d never been comfortable exposed to the media spotlight, so it had been a harsh lesson to learn and no mistake.

He’d been mad as hell with Gina at the time. But he’d got over it soon enough. Somehow she’d deluded herself into believing they were in love and he hadn’t been paying enough attention to notice. He adjusted the weight of his carry-on bag on his shoulder. Lesson learned. Whenever he dated now, he made it plain exactly what he wanted out of a relationship—and exactly what he didn’t want—right from the start.

He glanced up to search the terminal for the exit. Seeing no sign of any photographers or press hounds, he heaved a sigh. He could cope with the paps if he had to, but right now he was exhausted after an eleven-hour flight and back-to-back night shoots during the past week and he didn’t need the hassle. Luckily for him, he’d learnt to blend into the woodwork at an early age; people rarely recognised him in a crowd unless he wanted them to.

Spotting the ‘Way Out’ sign, he changed direction, but as he lowered his head to make for the exit a small figure stepped from behind a pillar straight into his path.

‘What the…?’ He pulled up sharply to stop knocking the girl down.

‘You’re Cormac Brody.’ Her voice wavered, but the statement was loud enough to attract attention.

‘Keep your voice down,’ he said, scanning the surrounding crowd. Luckily no one seemed to have heard her.

‘I’m sorry to bother you. But I need to speak to you,’ she said, polite as you please, but he detected a definite edge. ‘It’s extremely important.’

‘Extremely important, is it?’ He’d heard that before. A firm dismissal hovered on the tip of his tongue, but, as his gaze drifted over her figure and then settled back on her face, it refused to come out of his mouth.

Whoever the girl was, she was seriously cute.

The torn jeans and layered T-shirts should have made her look like a tomboy, but somehow they suited her, hugging her subtle curves and accentuating her narrow waist and a pair of small but pert breasts.

Then there was the impact of that pale heart-shaped face to consider.

Not quite green and not quite blue, her round, translucent eyes grabbed most of the attention, but when you added in the soft, carelessly cut cap of dark blonde hair, the clear, creamy skin and perfectly defined bone structure—plus the fact she didn’t have a spot of make-up on—he had to admit the effect was striking.

He wondered if she was a fan. And hoped she wasn’t.

‘What is it that’s so extremely important?’ He could spare her a moment—after all it was a long time since he’d been this intrigued. ‘I haven’t much time at the minute, darlin’.’

The doe-like eyes narrowed and she looked even cuter—sort of like Bo Peep in a strop. ‘Don’t patronise me, Mr Brody.’

He blinked, surprised by the ballsy comeback. No way was she a fan. ‘I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop saying my name so loudly,’ he said, keeping his tone light, even though this was the second time he’d had to mention it. ‘I’m in no hurry to draw attention to myself.’ Intriguing or not, she was turning into a bit of a liability.

He glanced past her again to make sure she hadn’t given him away and spied the one person he didn’t want to see. ‘Damn.’

She frowned and began to turn. Throwing his bag down, he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her against the pillar to get them both out of Pete Danners’s line of sight. His nemesis. The same freelance photographer had dogged him like a Rottweiler three years back and he had no desire to repeat the experience.

‘Don’t look round,’ he snapped. He propped his elbow above her head, trapping her body against his to look round the pillar. ‘If yer man over there sees me, this trip’ll be a misery.’

Juno sucked in a sharp breath, so shocked she forgot to exhale.

What was happening?

One second she’d been staring into staggeringly blue eyes and thinking Cormac Brody was a lot better-looking than he had any right to be and quite as arrogant as she had assumed. The next she’d been pinned against his lean, muscular body.

She got light-headed and remembered she needed air. One breath gushed out and she sucked in another. She could feel every single inch of him. The solid planes of his chest flattening her breasts. The long length of his thighs pressed to hers and the buckle of his belt, outlined against her stomach. The overwhelming scent of minty toothpaste and man suffocated her.

‘What are you doing?’ she panted, the outraged squeak muffled against his chest.

She hadn’t been this close to a man in six years. By rights she should be screaming her head off. But right alongside the shock was the unfamiliar blast of heat that throbbed in every place their bodies touched.

He moved back a fraction, still looking past her shoulder. She took another gasping breath.

‘He’s gone. Thank the Lord.’ The brush of his breath against her ear lobe had a shudder ricocheting down her spine. ‘I owe you one, gorgeous.’

‘I—I can’t breathe,’ she stammered, her teeth rattling.

He yanked off his cap and the bold, unfathomable blue of his eyes fixed on her face.

‘What’s wrong?’

You’re what’s wrong, she wanted to yell, but couldn’t say the words. She had to stop shaking first.

He bent his head. ‘Relax, darlin’.’ One calloused palm settled on her neck.

Her breath hitched painfully as he traced his thumb along her chin and then sank his fingers into her hair.

She tried to say something, anything, but all that came out was a choked moan. His hand rested on her nape, holding her steady. ‘How about we try this?’ he coaxed, his lips so close she could taste the minty scent of his breath.

Then his mouth slanted across hers.

The second those firm lips touched hers, her pulse went haywire—as if she’d been plugged into an electric socket. Shock and something much more potent rocketed through her. Then his tongue slid over her bottom lip and a staggered groan escaped.

She should push him away, her mind screamed. But when her palms flattened against his T-shirt, the muscles quivered beneath her fingers and her hands slid down the hard plane of worn cotton. Her lips parted and his tongue plundered. Fire flashed through her, pulsing in her sex, hardening her nipples—and incinerating the last semblance of coherent thought.

He established a primal rhythm as her mouth opened wider to accept him. Then her tongue duelled with his, tentatively at first but getting bolder as the fire raged at her core. Strong, insistent fingers explored, slipping under her T-shirt, fanning her ribcage and making her buck against him as they caressed over-sensitive skin. Then she felt it. The thick ridge pressing into her belly.

She struggled, trying to wrestle back control of her traitorous body, and he broke away.

‘Whoah. That was something else.’ His ragged breathing matched her own as he rested his forehead on hers. ‘We’d best stop, before things get out of hand.’

Juno stiffened and shrank back as reality returned, dousing the last of the passion like a bucket of ice water.

What had she done? After six years of contented celibacy, she’d snogged a complete stranger in the middle of Heathrow Airport. A stranger she didn’t even like.

‘Please, could you move your hand?’ she said, brutally embarrassed as his thumb continued to rub lazily across her ribs, perilously close to the underside of her breast.

He drew his hand down, rested it on her hip. ‘How about we find somewhere we can continue this in private?’

She fumbled with her T-shirt, frantically tucking it back into her jeans as blood surged into her cheeks. Did he think she was a prostitute or something?

He put his finger under her chin, tilted her head back. ‘Is there something the matter?’

Of course something’s the matter. A nymphomaniac just hijacked my body.

She jerked free. ‘N-nothing’s the matter,’ she stammered.

‘You sure?’ His brows lowered. ‘You’re acting a bit strange.’

You don’t know the half of it.

‘I have to go.’ She had to get away from those prying eyes and that harsh, too handsome face, before the nymphomaniac returned.

His hand clamped on her wrist. ‘Now wait a minute,’ he said with irritating calm.

She tugged, but the warm manacle only tightened. ‘I really have to go.’

‘You don’t kiss a guy like that and then just walk off,’ he said, not sounding the least bit perturbed by what they’d just done. ‘And what about the extremely important thing you had to discuss with me?’

She opened her mouth to demand he let her go instantly. And then snapped it shut again.

Oh, no. The wedding invitation.

How could she have forgotten about Daisy’s wedding? And her mission?

‘Please, l-let go of my wrist,’ she stuttered, the words trapped behind the boulder of guilt stuck in her throat. ‘I have something for you.’

He released her, a sensual smile on his lips. ‘I think we already established that.’

Her blush intensified—and her nipples tightened. Damn him. How did he have that effect on her? ‘I’m not talking about sexual favours.’ She grabbed his wrist and slapped the envelope into his upturned palm. ‘It’s an invitation to your brother’s wedding.’

He tensed and the smile vanished as he stared at the invite.

‘It’s from my best friend, Daisy, your brother’s fiancée,’ she added.

His gaze lifted and she thought she saw something flicker in his eyes. But it disappeared so quickly she was sure she’d imagined it.

‘I don’t have a brother,’ he replied, crushing the envelope in his fist.

That was one scenario she hadn’t even considered. ‘Of course you do,’ she blurted out, wondering what on earth had happened between this man and Connor.

He looked completely unmoved. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t beg, but after what she’d just done a little begging didn’t seem like such a big deal any more. She took a deep breath. ‘Please. You have to go. It’s really important.’

‘Not to me it isn’t,’ he said with enough arrogance to make her bristle. He lifted the invitation. ‘So you can give this back to your best friend and tell her I’m not interested.’

‘How can you be so callous?’ she asked, before she could think better of it.

‘How come this is any of your business?’ he shot back, a bitter smile twisting his lips.

She stiffened, stunned by the cold, emotionless tone. ‘I told you, Daisy’s my friend,’ she said, hating the defensiveness in her voice.

‘I see,’ he said. ‘So was the kiss her idea or yours?’

Juno’s mouth fell open. She snapped it shut. ‘You know perfectly well that kiss was your idea.’ What exactly was he accusing her of? ‘You know what, Mr Brody.’ Forget begging, she’d had about enough of Mac Brody and his titanic ego. ‘Just because you’re rich and famous it doesn’t give you the right to treat your family like dirt. Daisy and Connor are wonderful people—and they deserve a lot better than you.’

‘Is that right?’ To her fury, he chuckled. ‘So if you think I’m such a low form of life, why did you kiss me, then?’

If he didn’t stop talking about that damn kiss she was going to slap him. ‘I didn’t know you then. I do now.’

His lips quirked, apparently immune to the insult. ‘But you’ve yet to encounter the best bit.’

The vivid memory of his arousal had the blush burning in her cheeks. She thrust her chin out, refusing to acknowledge the strange sensation low in her belly. ‘I think you overestimate your charms, Mr Brody.’

He laughed. ‘But you’ll never know for sure now, will you?’

She didn’t dignify that with a reply, but she couldn’t help hearing his taunting laughter as she marched off.

Of all the arrogant, oversexed, thoughtless jerks.

Juno fumed all the way to the exit doors, her heart pumping in time with her angry strides. She’d been absolutely right about Mac Brody. He didn’t deserve a family as wonderful as Daisy and Connor and their beautiful baby boy, Ronan. Thank goodness he wasn’t coming to the wedding. What a relief to know she’d never have to set eyes on that infernal man—or his so-called charms—ever again.

Mac’s smile died as he watched the girl stalk off. His gaze dropped to the well-worn denim outlining the curve of her bottom. The hum of desire tugged at his groin.

He shouldn’t have teased her, but it had been irresistible once he’d seen the way her temper lit up the vivid blue-green of her eyes. Just as the urge to kiss her had been irresistible. He still wasn’t quite sure what had happened there.

He’d inhaled the clean, fresh scent of her shampoo, caught the panicked flare of arousal in those enchanting eyes—and his brains had gone south so fast instinct had taken over. The driving need to taste her had consumed him. And once he had, her sweet, innocent response had been so intoxicating he’d lost leave of his senses.

Still, spontaneity was one thing, recklessness another.

He searched the terminal, the crowds now thinning. No sign of Danners or any other celebrity snappers—which was a real stroke of luck. If Danners had spotted him while he’d been indulging himself with the girl, the man could have taken twenty pictures and Mac doubted he would have noticed. He picked up his bag, slung it over his shoulder, then realised he still had the wedding invitation she’d handed him clutched in his fist.

He set off towards the nearest bin. As he’d told the girl, he had no brother any more, no need of family and no intention of going to any wedding. The very last thing he needed was to stir up that whole hornet’s nest of emotions. Or the agonising memories that he’d boxed up and forgotten about a lifetime ago.

But as he reached the wastebasket and went to toss the invitation in his hand stilled. He lifted the creased envelope and inhaled the hint of scent she’d left on the paper. Soap and wild flowers. The thrill of sexual attraction shot through him. A thrill he hadn’t felt in far too long.

He wanted her. He might as well admit it, as after that kiss there was no mistaking it. She was nowhere near as sophisticated—or as amenable—as the women he usually dated, but somehow she’d captivated him. And he didn’t captivate easily.

He stared at the envelope. Maybe her difference was her appeal. With those tomboy clothes, that responsive little body and her prickly temper she represented the one thing he hadn’t had in a long while. A challenge.

And he hadn’t even found out her name.

Cursing softly, he shoved the wedding invitation into his back pocket.

Chapter Two

SITTING on the tube train as the leafy, suburban enclaves of west London trundled past, Juno replayed in her mind her disastrous encounter with Mac Brody—in minute detail, over and over again.

As she left Ladbroke Grove station twenty minutes later and walked to the bottom end of Portobello Road, she finally admitted the truth. Mac Brody might be an arrogant jerk who made Casanova look like a monk, but he wasn’t the only guilty party. She had to take a large part of the blame for this morning’s debacle too.

At ten past two on a Thursday afternoon with the market closed, Portobello looked like a ghost town, the empty metal frames of the stalls doing nothing to improve Juno’s mood. A couple of confused tourists who obviously hadn’t read their guidebook properly loitered next to the darkened window of The Rock ‘n’ Roller Memorabilia Emporium, but otherwise the street was deserted.

She hurried past the colourful faÇade of Daisy’s shop, The Funky Fashionista, and glanced at the window display she’d spent four hours arranging the day before. Her throat thickened with pride as she admired her handiwork—and guilt swamped her.

How could she have been so reckless and irresponsible? How could she have made such a mess of things?

She rubbed her cheek where Brody’s stubble had stung. She knew exactly how. As soon as he’d looked at her, as soon as his lips had touched hers, all her common sense and her good intentions had been burned to cinders in a blast of pure unadulterated pleasure.

Kissing him had been like falling into a sunbeam, making every single cell in her body explode with rapture. But how could her body have picked him, of all people, to respond to with such fervour? A man who had the emotional integrity of a gnat? It was against everything she knew and understood about herself. Against everything she had made herself become in the last six years.

She thrust her hand back into her pocket, turning into Colville Gardens.

Forget about the stupid kiss.

It wasn’t important. She couldn’t let it be. Mac Brody’s dangerous sex appeal and devilish good looks would play havoc with any woman’s hormones at a distance of two hundred yards—and she’d got a lot closer to him than that. That was all. Her shocking reaction was simply an accident of chemistry—and geography. An accident of thermonuclear proportions maybe. But still just an accident. It didn’t have to mean any more than that. Especially as she never intended to step into Mac Brody’s orbit again.

She gave a shaky sigh as Mrs Valdermeyer’s bedsit co-op came into view, looking like the poor relation to Daisy and Connor’s graceful five-storey Georgian next door.

Right now all she wanted to do was hide out in her room at Mrs Valdermeyer’s and spend the rest of her day off catching up on the shop’s bookkeeping and persuading herself this morning had never happened.

She took the first step up to Mrs Valdermeyer’s door. Then stopped.

‘Blast.’ The hissed expletive cut the summer afternoon like a knife.

She couldn’t do it. Six years ago she’d promised herself she’d always face up to what she’d done. This morning, she’d screwed up and let two people she loved down in the process.

Whatever the extenuating circumstances, she owed it to Daisy to come clean and then apologise.

‘I’m so glad you dropped by.’ Daisy beamed a smile over her shoulder as she led the way down the long hallway of her home. ‘The material for my bridal gown arrived from Delhi. It’s absolutely gorgeous—you have to come and drool over it with me.’

‘Great,’ Juno replied, trying to muster some enthusiasm as they entered the sunny open-plan kitchen at the back of the house. ‘Where’s Ronan?’ she asked, busy postponing the inevitable.

‘Having his nap. The little terror.’ Daisy filled the kettle at the sink. ‘Can you believe it? He woke us up at four this morning.’

Daisy’s eyes lit up as she talked about her son and Juno felt an odd pang in her chest.

‘Enough about He Who Does Not Sleep,’ Daisy continued. ‘We need to have another talk about your maid of honour gown.’ She dropped teabags into a couple of earthenware mugs. ‘There is no way I’m letting you walk down the aisle behind me in jeans and a—’

She stopped talking abruptly as her gaze landed on Juno. Her eyes widened. ‘What on earth happened to your face? Is that a heat rash?’

Juno clapped her palms to her cheeks. ‘Um…maybe.’ How much worse was today going to get?

‘Let me go get some salve,’ Daisy said.

Juno held a hand up. ‘Don’t bother. Honestly, it doesn’t hurt.’ She took a steadying breath, determined to force out her confession before Daisy spotted anything else. ‘I’ve done something reckless and irresponsible and I—’

‘Reckless and irresponsible?’ Daisy interrupted her. ‘You? I don’t believe it,’ she scoffed. ‘You’re the most cautious person I know.’

That would be yesterday.

‘I met Mac Brody at Heathrow Airport this morning and tried to give him the wedding invite.’ She rushed the words, before she lost her nerve completely.

Daisy blinked. ‘You met Mac? Connor’s brother? But…’ She trailed off, clearly at a loss for words.

‘I had this stupid idea I could persuade him to come.’ Juno twisted her hands in her lap. ‘I knew how much you wanted him there. You and Connor and after—’

‘Wait, wait,’ Daisy interrupted again. ‘Go back a bit.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Are you seriously telling me that you went all the way to Heathrow this morning to meet the handsome, charming and stupendously sexy Mac Brody, movie star? Of your own free will?’

Was that a smile wrinkling Daisy’s lips?

‘So?’

Daisy giggled. ‘So, that’s fantastic.’ Her friend zipped round the breakfast bar and perched on the stool next to Juno’s. ‘Now, tell me all about it. No detail is too insignificant.’

‘What’s got into you?’ Juno sensed a trap, but couldn’t figure out what it could be.

‘Just tell me. Is he as hormone-meltingly gorgeous in the flesh as he is in his films?’

A blush blazed across Juno’s chest. ‘You can’t say that. You’re practically a married woman.’ Was no woman immune to Mac Brody’s charms?

‘I may be practically married,’ Daisy said, not sounding remotely chastened, ‘but I’m not blind, am I? Anyway, it’s required that I appreciate him—on a purely aesthetic level—after all, Connor and he are the spitting image of each other.’

The instant Daisy had said it, Juno’s mind conjured up a picture of Brody in the moment before he’d kissed her. A picture now branded on her brain for all eternity in glorious Technicolor.

The brutal blush scorched the back of her neck.

The two brothers did look remarkably alike. Mac Brody’s features were a little less blunt than Connor’s and the colour of his eyes was a purer, fiercer blue, but both men shared the same dark, brooding Celtic beauty. The high, hollow cheekbones, the sharply defined brows, the long, leanly muscled physique and that air of casual danger. So why, apart from Brody’s gait, hadn’t she spotted the resemblance until Daisy had mentioned it?

Maybe because Connor’s looks had never made her heart race or her pulse hammer as his brother’s had.

She forced the picture to the back of her mind. She couldn’t afford to start hyperventilating again.

‘It doesn’t matter what he looked like,’ she said as soberly as she could manage. ‘The point is he refused to come to the wedding, he even said he didn’t have a brother and I lost my temper with him and made things worse. I wanted to apologise to you and to Connor. Because there’s no chance at all he’ll come now.’

‘Apologise for what? We already know he’s not coming,’ Daisy said so matter-of-factly, Juno wondered if her sensitive friend had been taken over by Martians. ‘We got that letter from his agent, remember?’ Daisy finished.

‘I know, I was there. You were really upset.’

Daisy waved the comment away. ‘I was a bit at first. But after I’d thought about it I could see I was being overly optimistic thinking he’d come around so quickly. Connor was just as stubborn and misguided when I first met him. After the terrible things that happened to them both as kids, it’s no surprise Mac has hang-ups to spare.’ Daisy gave a heavy sigh. ‘It doesn’t surprise me he said he didn’t have a brother.’

What terrible things?

The question burned on Juno’s tongue but she stopped herself from asking it, and ruthlessly controlled the little spurt of sympathy that went with it. Maybe there was more to the situation between him and Connor than she’d assumed. But Mac Brody had been right about one thing: none of this was any of her business—and she’d got into quite enough trouble already trying to make it her business.

‘I’m sure Mac needs a family as much as Connor did,’ Daisy continued. ‘But it’ll probably take him a while to figure it out.’

Juno wondered if the man who had kissed her with such confidence had ever needed anybody. But decided not to mention it.

‘But enough about me.’ Daisy patted Juno’s knee, the spark of excitement returning to her voice. ‘What did you think of him?’

‘Who cares what I thought of him?’ Maybe Mac Brody wasn’t as big a jerk as she had thought. Maybe he had his reasons for treating Connor the way he had. But what difference did it make what she thought of the man if she was never going to see him again?

‘Juno.’ Daisy slanted her a long-suffering look. ‘Blush magazine voted Cormac Brody one of the sexiest men in the known universe last month. We’ve already established he’s completely gorgeous. And, according to the gossip columns, he’s currently between girlfriends.’ She gave another heartfelt sigh. ‘Surely this is one man even you could not be immune to?’

The light dawned, and Juno saw the trap Daisy had set opening like a yawning chasm beneath her feet. Ever since Daisy had fallen in love with Connor she’d been subtly trying to get Juno to consider dating again. Juno had pretended not to notice. But as Daisy waited for an answer with an expectant look in her eye the blush blazed into Juno’s cheeks.

‘Something happened.’ Daisy pointed at her triumphantly. ‘You’re blushing and you never blush.’

‘Nothing happened,’ Juno grumbled, her scalp feeling as if it had been set alight.

Daisy gasped. ‘You kissed him,’ she said with frightening certainty.

Juno gaped. What was she? A mind-reader now as well as a Martian?

‘That’s whisker burn on your cheek, not heat rash,’ Daisy announced, her voice giddy with excitement. ‘I ought to know, Connor’s left me with one often enough. And you met Mac off a transatlantic flight. He wouldn’t have had time to shave.’

Not just a mind-reader, flipping Sherlock Holmes.

‘It was a mistake,’ Juno said, trying to dig herself out of the yawning chasm. ‘He had to hide from a photographer and then…’ Then what? He kissed her into a frenzy and turned all her brain cells to mush? ‘It wasn’t anything really.’

‘Rubbish,’ Daisy said. ‘He’s the first man you’ve kissed since Tony. That means it’s not just something, it’s a megaginormous something.’

Juno flinched at the mention of Tony’s name. ‘This has nothing to do with Tony. I got over him years ago.’

‘I know you did.’ Daisy grasped Juno’s hands, her eyes warming with sympathy, making Juno flinch even more. ‘But what about what happened afterwards, Juno? And what about the fact that you’ve spent the last six years of your life paying penance for it?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Juno tried to pull her hands free, but her friend held firm.

‘Yes, you do.’ Daisy gave a deep sigh. ‘When’s the last time you wore a dress?’

‘I don’t like dresses. They don’t suit me.’

‘When’s the last time you put on make-up, then? Or went out on the town? Or felt the thrill of flirting with an attractive man?’ Daisy paused, her grip tightening. ‘Why are you ashamed of kissing Mac Brody? The man is every woman’s wet dream. Why shouldn’t you want to kiss him?’

Daisy stopped talking abruptly, her head tilting to one side. A split second later Juno heard Ronan’s lusty wail through the baby monitor.

‘I better give him a quick slurp,’ Daisy said, pointing at Juno. ‘But don’t you dare go anywhere. As soon as I’ve got Ronan settled we’re going to have another little chat about your maid of honour gown.’ Daisy flashed her a quick grin. ‘When I finally meet Mac Brody I’m going to give him a great big hug—for making my best friend realise she’s a woman again.’

Juno blew out a breath as Daisy shot out of the room to tend to her son.

As if Mac Brody’s kiss hadn’t given her enough to panic about, Daisy’s heart-to-heart was making her feel like a basket case. Folding her arms on the breakfast bar, she laid her head on her hands and squeezed her eyes shut as she listened to Ronan’s cries from the monitor and tried to blank out all the conflicting emotions racing through her head.

Ronan’s angry wails turned to indignant sobbing and then cut off completely as Daisy’s soothing voice came over the intercom. Juno imagined Daisy sitting in the white rocker by the nursery’s terrace doors as she settled her son on her breast—and the strange pang she’d felt earlier tore into her chest.

She jerked upright, realising with horror she was ridiculously close to tears.

What on earth had got into her? Where had that fierce sense of longing come from? That empty feeling inside?

Glancing down at her jeans, she saw the tiny tear in the knee and rubbed her hand over it. She forced down the tears, but the uncomfortable whisper of envy refused to go away.

What if Daisy were right? She’d survived what had happened six years ago, but how could she claim to have triumphed over it when she’d been in hiding the whole time since?

No wonder kissing Mac Brody had been such a shock to her system. After six years of pretending she didn’t have a sex drive, he’d demonstrated in one fell swoop exactly what it was she’d been missing. And at the same time brought her face to face with what she’d let her life become. Not just cautious and well ordered, but mind-numbingly dull.

She stared out at the weeping-willow tree in the back garden, noticed the remnants of the breakfast Daisy and Connor had shared together that morning on the patio table. And the little spurt of envy got worse.

She’d sat on the sidelines in the last year and watched Daisy find her happy-ever-after and she’d never even admitted to herself that she wanted one of her own.

Maybe it was about time she took the next step and conceded that survival wasn’t enough any more. That dressing like a tomboy and making herself into a nun had outlived its usefulness. Would it really be so terrible to admit that she wanted more than that now?

Daisy hummed Ronan’s favourite lullaby over the baby monitor and Juno felt a little frisson of excitement and trepidation wash over her.

She didn’t have to go nuts; she could still be practical and sensible.

But why shouldn’t she let Daisy design her maid of honour gown? She’d resisted the suggestion up till now because she’d been scared of what Daisy might come up with. Given Daisy’s flamboyant dress sense and her eagerness to get Juno back into the dating game, her caution had seemed perfectly justified at the time.

But it didn’t feel justified now. She had to stop being such a coward and start easing her life out of the great big enormous rut she’d driven it into.

And, goodness, if she could snog a movie star in Heathrow Airport and live to tell the tale, surely she could let her best friend design a dress for her. Especially if she made it absolutely clear she didn’t want the dress to be too out-there.

Honestly, how bad could it be?

Chapter Three

‘DAISY, I…I don’t know what to say.’ Juno gaped at her reflection in the dressing room mirror, bronze satin shimmering over the curves she hadn’t known she had until about five seconds ago. ‘I might as well be stark naked. I can’t walk into the church wearing this. The minister will have a stroke.’

Daisy laughed. ‘The minister will not have a stroke.’ She cocked her head, considering, then crouched to straighten the hem. ‘But he may make a pass at you. He is French, after all.’

The shock had started to wear off, a little, but Juno still couldn’t muster the ability to laugh back. ‘I have a cleavage,’ she whispered in disbelief, astonished at the way the plump swell of her breasts strained against the gown’s daringly low neckline.

‘I told you hooker underwear had its uses,’ Daisy commented. Standing, she gave a contented sigh. ‘My job is done. You look sensational.’ She smiled. ‘But the big question is—how do you feel? Do you like it?’

Juno pivoted on her toes to take another quick look over her shoulder at the way the cut-out in the gown’s back plunged tantalisingly close to the upper slope of her buttocks. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

She’d never worn anything so beautiful before in her life—or so revealing. This wasn’t just out-there, it was over the hill and far away.

She studied the full effect in the mirror again. The bouncy little bob Daisy’s hairdresser had fashioned out of her haphazard thatch of blonde curls that morning; the dash of lip gloss and mascara that made her fairly ordinary features look exotic; and her slim figure enhanced by the sleek bronze satin of the gown.

Daisy had made her look and feel sexy for the first time in her life. But did she have the guts to pull it off? When she’d decided to unlock her femininity she hadn’t had anything quite this liberating in mind.

‘I feel like a different person,’ she said truthfully.

‘Different good? Or different bad?’

Emotion clogged Juno’s throat as her eyes met Daisy’s in the mirror. ‘Different scared but excited.’

Daisy grinned. ‘Excited is good.’ She touched Juno’s arm. ‘And scared is to be expected. You’re going to knock them dead.’ She plucked a tissue out of her dressing gown and folded Juno’s fingers over it. ‘But remember, no upstaging of the bride is allowed. And you mustn’t cry, or your mascara will run and make you look like a raccoon.’

A giggle popped out of Juno’s mouth, the flutter of anticipation making her feel a little giddy. ‘Good to know.’

Had she ever felt so young or carefree before in her life?

Juno clutched the bridal bouquet as goosebumps rose on her bare arms and she tried to concentrate on the heavily accented voice of the minister. The fragrant scent of blooming orchids and calla lillies perfumed the air as Daisy held Connor’s hand and repeated her vows in a clear, steady voice. The elaborate beading on the bodice of Daisy’s wedding dress sparkled in the light from the stained-glass window and made Juno think of a fairy-tale princess.

She smoothed her palm over the bronze satin of her gown and smiled, letting the buoyant feeling intoxicate her. She’d stopped believing in happy-ever-afters so long ago, but being here in this beautiful place and watching Daisy declare her love for Connor made anything seem possible. She sniffed, trying to grab a dose of reality and keep her whimsy in check.

Make-up emergencies aside, she had to control herself. Daisy had worked hard for her happy-ever-after and had found the man of her dreams against all the odds. In her experience men like Connor were rarer than fifty-carat diamonds. She needed to remember that before she got all dewy-eyed. And anyway, getting back down the aisle without falling on her bum in the four-inch heels Daisy had insisted she wear was going to be tough enough. Dissolving into tears would only make it tougher.

She frowned as the minister’s musical voice was interrupted by a round of shuffles and coughs and hissed whispers. The hairs at her nape tingled and she had the peculiar sensation someone was watching her. She risked a glance over her shoulder. Most of the congregation were craning their necks to stare at something at the back of the small rural church.

She heard Daisy’s quick in-drawn breath at the same moment her eyes focused on the shadowy figure standing by the entrance door. And every last molecule of blood drained out of her head and slammed straight into her heart.

Him? It couldn’t be.

She blinked furiously, sure she had to be seeing things. But she wasn’t. The man who had been a star player in far too many of her dreams over the last two weeks appeared to be staring straight at her. His head dipped and she could have sworn she felt his gaze rake over her figure.

‘Connor, it’s Mac. He came.’ She heard the delight in Daisy’s hushed voice as a battalion of butterflies dive-bombed into her stomach.

‘Well, now.’ Connor sounded as shell-shocked as Juno felt.

The minister coughed deliberately, a pinched expression on his face at the interruption.

‘Excusez-moi, monsieur,’ Daisy addressed him in her atrocious French. ‘Une momento s’il vous plaÎt, un personne tres important est arrive. Une momento.’

She grasped Connor’s hand. ‘We have to welcome him.’

Juno stayed rooted to the spot, watching as if in slow motion, her heart punching her ribs, as Daisy hoisted up her wedding gown and rushed down the aisle with Connor in tow.

Daisy slowed for less than a second when she reached Mac and then threw her arms around his neck. Juno thought she saw him stiffen as he accepted Daisy’s hug, his hand settling on Daisy’s back for only a moment. When Daisy finally let Mac go, the brothers shook hands and then Connor gripped Mac’s shoulder. Juno couldn’t hear a word they were saying above the curious and excited conversations around her, but she couldn’t help noticing Brody’s rigid posture—so different from his relaxed stance at the airport.

Colour flushed across Juno’s sternum as Daisy grasped Mac’s hand and led him down the aisle. Tucking her bottom lip under her teeth, she stifled the groan as she watched him approach. She must not let him intimidate her. She wasn’t the naÏve, inexperienced tomboy he’d kissed and made fun of two weeks ago. She was stronger now and much more sophisticated. Or, at least, she looked as if she were.

‘You’ll never guess who turned up after all,’ Daisy teased as they drew level. ‘Juno, I believe you’ve already met Connor’s brother, Mac.’

He’d cut his hair. The thick black locks, now militarily short, only showed the slightest tendency to curl around his ears. The new hairstyle, together with his clean-shaven jaw and the perfectly tailored dove-grey linen suit and pristine white shirt, should have made him look a lot less dangerous. They didn’t.

She lifted her chin. ‘Hello again, Mr Brody,’ she said succinctly, despite the butterflies now having a field day in her tummy.

‘Juno, is it?’ His gaze flicked down and her nipples peaked painfully against her push-up bra. ‘The name of a goddess,’ he murmured, the penetrating blue of his eyes as disturbing as she remembered. ‘It suits.’

The minister coughed loudly and Juno started, amazed she’d forgotten they still had Connor and Daisy’s wedding to finish.

Juno riveted all her attention on the bride and groom as they returned to their positions, struggling to ignore Mac’s alarming presence. The minister launched back into the wedding service and her fingers clenched in a death grip on the bouquet. How could she detect the light pine scent of his soap above the heavy fragrance of the bridal flowers? And what was he really doing here? Wasn’t this the man who’d flatly refused to come to the wedding only a couple of weeks ago?

After what could only have been a few minutes—but felt like several decades—the minister declared Daisy and Connor husband and wife. Sweeping his new bride into his arms, Connor executed a Valentino dip and silenced Daisy’s joyous laugh with an extravagantly sexy kiss. The lavish display of affection only made Juno more aware of the man standing behind her.

‘That looks like fun.’ The provocative whisper at her shoulder cut through the spontaneous round of hoots and cheers from the congregation. ‘How about you and me give it another shot?’

Juno stiffened as his breath feathered across her nape. How typical. While Daisy had found the man of her dreams, she was being tempted by the Devil incarnate.

Her head whipped round. ‘No, thank you,’ she said, struggling for composure. ‘Once was quite enough for me,’ she added caustically. But then her eyes dipped to his mouth completely of their own accord—and she could feel those firm, persuasive lips on hers even though they were standing a foot apart.

‘Once is never enough, Juno,’ he murmured, her name rolling off his tongue with the intimacy of a caress. She jerked her gaze to his to find those laser blue eyes twinkling with the promise of eternal damnation. ‘Especially for you and me.’

She turned her back on him, resisting the urge to hit him over the head with the bridal bouquet. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he had gatecrashed Daisy and Connor’s wedding just to bait her.

Connor released his wife at last and Daisy held her arms out to Juno. ‘I’m so happy, I think I might burst,’ she whispered into Juno’s ear as she gave her a hard hug.

Juno clung on tight, tears stinging her eyes again. ‘You’ve got the best man in the world,’ she murmured back. ‘And he almost deserves you.’

Connor’s hand settled on her shoulder and she released Daisy to see the brotherly affection in his face she’d come to depend on. ‘Now don’t go mad there,’ he said, drawing her into his arms. ‘I might get the idea you like me.’

‘Let’s not get carried away,’ she teased, enjoying the easy camaraderie that had built between them in the past year as she hugged him back.

Connor chuckled as he released her. ‘As if I’d dare.’

He reached over her shoulder and she turned to see his hand clasp Mac’s. ‘It’s good to have you here, Mac. It’s been too long.’ Connor’s voice thickened. ‘Way too long.’

Mac let go of the handshake first. ‘Yeah,’ he said flatly.

‘You’ll come to the reception?’ Connor asked, sounding unsure. ‘Daisy and I want you to meet Ronan, our son. You’d be his uncle, after all.’

Mac’s jaw tensed, a cautious, shuttered expression on his face. ‘Sure, wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ he said after a long pause, but the reply sounded apathetic at best.

An uneasy feeling bloomed in the pit of Juno’s stomach, doing nothing to calm the dive-bombing butterflies. She recognised that frigid, closed-off tone; he’d sounded the same when he’d told her he didn’t have a brother.

Daisy stepped up to Mac and grasped his hand in both of hers. ‘You have no idea how much this means to us, Mac,’ she said, the unguarded happiness in her voice making Juno’s stomach start to hurt. ‘All that matters right now is that you’re here.’ She grinned. ‘And that you’ve brought an appetite. We have enough fancy French cuisine to feed an army back at the chÂteau, so you’re going to have to consume your fair share.’

‘I’m sure I can choke down a bit,’ he replied.

‘Connor and I have to get back to greet the other guests.’ She winked at Juno. ‘So I’ll leave you in Juno’s capable hands. She can introduce you around and show you how to get there.’

No, she won’t.

Juno shot Daisy a horrified look. But as she racked her brain for a suitable excuse Daisy lifted the bridal bouquet out of her arms and whispered in her ear, ‘Don’t be such a wuss. I’m sure he won’t bite.’ She stifled a delighted laugh. ‘Or not yet anyway.’

And with that Connor and Daisy were gone, swallowed up by the crowd of well-wishers as they strolled down the aisle and out into the early evening sunshine as man and wife.

Juno folded her arms across her waist. She loved the dress Daisy had designed for her, but she suddenly felt naked in it. ‘It’s only about a ten-minute drive to the chÂteau,’ she said, not able to meet Mac’s eyes. ‘I can introduce you to most of the people here and then give you directions.’

He snagged her arm as she made to leave. ‘I’ll skip the introductions.’ His thumb caressed the inside of her elbow, making her pulse jump. ‘And I only take directions on set, so I think you’d best show me where it is.’ His dark brows lifted, matching the mocking smile on his lips. ‘You wouldn’t want me to get lost, now, would you?’

I should be so lucky, she thought—her pulse pounding where his thumb stroked. ‘Perish the thought,’ she said, unable to keep the bite of sarcasm at bay.

He laughed, taking her arm and folding it through his. The fluid movement anchored her to his side—and offered virtually no protection against the muscled strength beneath the tailored linen.

‘That’s the spirit, darlin’.’ He chuckled, the subtle scent of his soap overwhelming as he guided her down the aisle.

She should have pulled away, but she didn’t want to let him know how much his nearness affected her. So she concentrated on remembering to breathe and making sure she didn’t fall flat on her face in her new heels.

‘I’ve not eaten all day and I’m half starved,’ he said casually. Too casually.

She couldn’t control the tremble of response. Why did she get the impression Daisy and Connor’s lavish reception buffet wasn’t the only thing he intended to devour?

The soft summer light gave the evening a golden glow as Mac’s flashy sports car turned into the chÂteau’s driveway behind a queue of other cars. Looking through the thicket of oak trees, Juno glimpsed the baroque French castle standing proud at the brow of the hill. Flowering vines hugged the turrets and balconies and accented a trio of tiered terraces linked by a sweeping staircase. As the powerful car inched closer the main terrace and the ballroom beyond came into view, the throng of guests being served by an army of blackclad waiters brandishing trays of canapÉs and champagne.

Not for the first time that day, Juno thought of palaces and princes and long-ago pageantry. Daisy and Connor had turned their wedding day into a magical event. She bit back the wistful sigh. Enough with the daydreaming. It definitely was not appropriate in her current circumstances.

She glanced across at the man beside her. In the twenty minutes it had taken them to get from the church to the reception, Mac Brody had been surprisingly subdued. There had been none of the teasing or taunts she’d expected. Probably because he’d been swamped by a crowd of people as soon as Daisy and Connor’s carriage had been waved out of sight.

She’d had no idea he was so famous! She rarely went to the cinema—never having had much time for make-believe—and she didn’t read the gossip mags either.

But more surprising than all the attention had been the way he’d reacted to it. He’d been patient and charming and remarkably gracious about all the requests for autographs and snapshots, but she’d still sensed how uncomfortable he was. Making her wonder what had become of the big bad movie star who had kissed her with such arrogance at Heathrow.

The tension had eased out of his shoulders once he’d ushered her into his sleek little rented Porsche. But as soon as the chÂteau had appeared across the valley his hands had fisted on the steering wheel. As if he were bracing himself for what lay ahead.

Why had he decided to come if this evening was going to be such an ordeal?

Juno’s pulse skittered as he reversed the car into a small space under one of the leafy oak trees. Perversely, the glimpse of vulnerability behind his super-confident faÇade had given her own confidence a nice little boost.

He wrenched up the handbrake. ‘We’ll have to walk it from here.’ His lips tilted as his gaze shifted to her feet. ‘You think you can handle all the pebbles in those shoes?’

He was probably used to women who could run a marathon in high heels, but the comment sounded amused not disparaging so she smiled back. ‘I should be able to manage twenty yards. If not I’ll take them off. You’ll have to promise not to tell Daisy though.’

‘Why’s that now?’ he asked, his deep Irish voice shimmering across her bare skin.

‘Daisy designed my maid of honour gown. It makes a statement, apparently, which includes the high heels. Without them she’ll accuse me of ruining the effect or something.’ The babble of information petered into silence. Why had she drawn attention to the frock? It was as if she were fishing for a compliment. Which she definitely wasn’t.

His eyes drifted over her figure and her heart skidded to a stop. ‘Daisy’s mighty talented,’ he said as his gaze met hers. ‘You look gorgeous.’

Heat pumped into her cheeks and her heart began beating double time as the impact of the softly growled compliment sizzled right down to her toes.

Way to go, Juno. Now you feel like you’re stark naked again.

Chapter Four

WHERE in God’s name had she gone?

Mac scoured the main ballroom of the seventeenth-century chÂteau for the five thousandth time and took another gulp of his lukewarm orange juice. He glanced at his watch. She’d shot off well over three hours ago as soon as they’d arrived with some excuse about changing her shoes. And he’d not seen hide nor hair of her since. He’d searched the damn chÂteau, checking out the two ballrooms—one with an orchestra playing big band music and golden oldies, the other with a famous pop group playing live music for the younger crowd—not once but about three times each. He’d also done several circuits of the outdoor terraces festooned with fairy lights and torches, the lavish banqueting hall where a cordon bleu buffet had been laid out, and wandered aimlessly through the labyrinth of smaller salons. The reception party was in full swing now and the close to two hundred guests were letting their hair down and enjoying themselves. All except for him. He hadn’t been this wound up since facing his first opening night on Broadway.

The place was heaving. How could one couple have so many friends and acquaintances? And not one of them seemed to be shy about approaching him and asking after his relationship to Connor. No one, that was, except the one woman he’d come all this way to see.

Pull yourself together, man.

He leaned back against the wall and reminded himself to relax. At least he’d finally got rid of the gaggle of teenage girls who had been stalking him for close to an hour but had been too tongue-tied to say anything.

As he watched the dancers twisting the night away with varying degrees of grace—and waited in vain to catch a glimpse of bronze satin and blonde curls—the question that had been bugging him all evening began to bug him some more.

What had possessed him to come here?

Yesterday evening he’d been at the London wrap party of his latest movie getting an offer he shouldn’t have been able to refuse from his beautiful co-star Imelda Jackson. But instead of taking Imelda up on her suggestion of a ‘quick, one-night liaison to let off steam’, he’d turned her down flat.

He scowled and drained the last of the juice. There was no doubting it any more. The blame for that bit of insanity and his mad decision to come to Connor’s wedding lay squarely at the dainty feet of the Invisible Miss Juno.

She’d cast a spell on him and lured him here against his will like some damn siren queen. Ever since she’d kissed him at Heathrow, he’d not been able to get her out of his thoughts. When he’d woken up this morning after yet another erotic fantasy in which she was the headline attraction, he’d known it was past time to take affirmative action.

He didn’t obsess about sex and he certainly didn’t let women he barely knew invade his dreams. So he’d taken the last in a long line of cold showers, dug out the wedding invite—which he’d somehow forgotten to toss—cancelled his first-class flight to LA that evening and booked a mid-morning one to Nice.

It wasn’t until he’d been standing at the back of the little French chapel, though, that he’d realised he’d bitten off considerably more than he wanted to chew. Seeing his brother again had been like taking a solid right hook to the gut and that had been bad enough. But then he’d come face to face with Juno, her slim, coltish figure dressed in some gorgeous bit of fancy that stroked over her curves like a lover’s hand. He’d looked into those incredible eyes, felt the jolt of awareness thump him hard in the solar plexus, and he’d known dealing with Connor wasn’t his biggest problem—not by a long shot.

She hadn’t looked one bit pleased to see him. But just when he’d thought he’d got a handle on her, when he’d felt that connection between them in the car and seen the attraction in her luminous blue-green eyes, she’d done her disappearing act.

Now, after an evening of making pointless small talk with people he didn’t know but who behaved as if they knew him, of wandering around like a fool searching for someone who seemed to have vanished—and carefully avoiding his brother and his brother’s wife—he felt tense and edgy and seriously pissed off—with himself as well as her.

He should have left hours ago. But he hadn’t been able to make himself do it. He couldn’t walk away from Juno. Not a second time. Whatever the hell she’d done to him two weeks ago, he needed to sort it out. Tonight. He wasn’t spending a moment longer with her dogging his thoughts—especially as he now had the vision of her in that damn dress to contend with.

He dumped his empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter and once more swept his gaze over the crowd. As she was the maid of honour, she couldn’t have just vanished. The answer had to be that the woman was trying to avoid him—which was another new experience. But all he really need do was sit her out.

One thing was for definite, though—once he finally got his hands on Little Miss Juno Whatever-The-Hell-Her-Name-Was she wouldn’t be getting away again so easily.

His head stilled as a glimmer of gold caught his eye on the other side of the ballroom. He squinted at the shifting shadows in the entrance lobby and his gaze locked onto the mass of curls sheened by candlelight.

Gotcha.

The embers smouldering in his belly leapt back to life as he wound his way across the ballroom. Oblivious to the bumps and shoves from the gyrating dancers, he kept his eyes peeled on his prey every single step of the way.

‘Juno, there you are, thank goodness I found you.’ Daisy brushed the wayward strands of hair off a face flushed from champagne and excitement. ‘Connor’s whisking me away to my bridal bower any minute now.’ She giggled, the bubbly sound making Juno’s heart flutter. ‘As soon as we’ve got Ronan settled. By the way, where’s Mac? Connor’s worried he might have left without saying goodbye.’

‘Why would he do that?’ she asked, trying to keep the guilt out of her voice.

She’d basically abandoned him hours ago and she wasn’t too proud of herself. But when he’d given her that look, as if he could see right through her clothing, all the insecurities from their kiss had come flooding back and she’d gone into panic mode.

She hadn’t been avoiding him. Well, not exactly.

The plan had been to change into some shoes she could actually walk in and then find him again—after all, Daisy had asked her to look after him and she’d probably imagined the intensity of that look. But once she’d returned from her room, he’d been surrounded by a very persistent group of teenage girls, and after that she’d seen him talking to Daisy’s impossibly glamorous socialite friend Joannie. In the end, she’d decided to keep out of his way—he made her nervous and she didn’t want to make a fool of herself. So she’d chatted to Mrs Valdermeyer, danced with Jacie’s son Cal, had a long discussion with New York artist Monroe Latimer and his wife, Jessie, about modern art and made sure she kept well away from Mac Brody all evening. From what she’d observed he hadn’t been lonely, so she had nothing whatsoever to feel guilty about.

‘Mac looked as if he’d been hit with a brick when he first set eyes on Connor in the church,’ Daisy explained, craning her neck to scan the ballroom. ‘Poor guy, I don’t think he’s quite ready for all this yet.’ Daisy’s gaze returned to Juno and she grinned. ‘Plus, it was pretty obvious once he got a load of you in that dress, he hasn’t come all this way just to attend our wedding.’

‘How do you mean?’ Juno asked, her voice shaking at the shocking bubble of excitement. Mac Brody couldn’t possibly have come all this way to see her. Daisy was being absurd.

‘Come off it,’ Daisy scoffed. ‘The look he gave you could have powered the National Grid.’

‘Do you really think so?’ she said, then realised how ridiculous she sounded. What was wrong with her? She didn’t want Mac Brody to look at her like that. Did she?

‘Yes, I really do.’ Daisy’s gaze sharpened. ‘Which means that, as I suspected—’ she wagged her finger like an indignant schoolmarm ‘—I did not get the whole truth about that kiss. Exactly how hot was it?’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Juno replied, her pulse rate doing the merengue as her panic button tripped again. ‘It wasn’t that big a deal.’ She should never have told Daisy about that stupid kiss. Her hopelessly romantic friend had blown it completely out of proportion—and now she was starting to do it too.

‘I’ll just bet it wasn’t,’ Daisy said, not sounding convinced. Huffing dramatically, she looped her arm through Juno’s and dropped her voice to a confidential whisper. ‘Ju, baby. However much you may have deluded yourself about that kiss, the point is the man is here now and he’s seriously hot and seriously interested. So why are you hiding from him?’

‘I’m not hiding,’ Juno said, trying to convince herself.

‘Yeah, right,’ Daisy replied. ‘Well, that being the case, why don’t you get yourself a glass of champagne and go jump him before someone else gets there first? Everyone’s talking about him being here—and if you heard what Joannie Marceau said about him you’d know you have some serious competition.’

Exactly how much champagne had Daisy had?

‘I’m not going to go jump him. He’s not that interested…And it would be…’ She shuddered to a halt.

Jumping Mac Brody would be what exactly?

Insane? Petrifying? Exciting? Exhilarating? Electrifying?

Juno frowned. How many glasses of champagne had she had? She couldn’t actually be considering Daisy’s suggestion. So far she hadn’t even had the guts to go up and talk to the man.

‘Don’t you dare rationalise this.’ Daisy shot her a pointed look. ‘Sometimes you just have to get back on the horse and go with the flow,’ she said, happily mangling her metaphors. ‘But one thing I guarantee you, if Mac’s anything like Connor in the sack, it’ll be a ride to remember.’

Juno felt the flush rocket up her neck.

Right, that was definitely a bit too much information.

‘Keep your voice down, Mrs Brody.’ Connor’s deep Irish accent startled them both. ‘There are babies present.’

Juno’s cheeks flamed as Connor planted a kiss on Daisy’s temple, their baby son, decked out in his pyjamas, balanced comfortably in the crook of his arm. She supposed it was too much to hope Connor hadn’t overheard Daisy’s grossly inappropriate comment.

Fluttering her eyelashes at her new husband, Daisy didn’t look the least bit bothered. ‘Goodness,’ she said. ‘If I’d known you were such a square, I never would have married you.’

Connor banded his free arm around her hip and pulled her into a lopsided hug. ‘Tough. It’s too late to back out now.’ The baby chortled, snuggled between them. ‘You’ve already promised to love, honour and obey, angel. And your son and I have it in writing.’

Daisy laughed, looking like the picture of a blushing bride. ‘Did I really say obey? Surely not.’

Juno flushed at the flirtatious words, feeling like an interloper. Which was weird. Connor and Daisy kissed and flirted in front of her all the time. It hadn’t bothered her in months. Not since she’d got to know Connor. And anyhow this was their wedding day.

So why was it bothering her now?

‘Quick, let go, Connor.’ Daisy scrambled out of her husband’s embrace and smoothed her bridal gown. ‘Don’t look now,’ she said, peering over Juno’s shoulder at the ballroom, ‘but something tall, dark and dangerous this way comes.’

Juno knew exactly who Daisy was referring to; she could already feel the heat of Mac’s gaze burning into the back of her neck.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him striding through the crowd. Six feet two of leanly muscled and devastatingly sexy male. Cool blue eyes focused on her face with the intensity of a heat-seeking missile. Her pulse rate skidded from merengue to macarena in one frantic heartbeat. He didn’t just look dangerous. He looked savage. Making her feel like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming freight train. Why was he glaring at her like that? And why was it making her feel as if she were about to spontaneously combust?

She kept her eyes on his, unable to relinquish eye contact. Okay, this was not good news, because that wasn’t panic making her light-headed, it was excitement.

His steps faltered as he registered who was standing next to her. She thought she saw a flash of alarm cross his face, but by the time he drew level it was gone.

‘Hello.’ He nodded in greeting, but the single word sounded strained, then his eyes settled on the baby cradled in Connor’s arms and he went completely still.

‘Let me introduce you to your nephew, Mac.’ Connor stroked Ronan’s soft curls as the baby’s sleepy head drooped onto his shoulder. ‘This is our son, Ronan Cormac Brody.’

Mac continued to stare at the baby. ‘Ronan, is it?’ he said at last, the words barely audible over the heavy dance beat from the ballroom. He thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘He’s a handsome lad.’

Connor gave a heavy sigh. ‘We think so.’ The sadness and resignation in his voice made Juno’s stomach hurt again. Had Mac even noticed the baby’s middle name? And why was he being so reserved? It was almost as if he had retreated into his own world.

‘And he’s exhausted, because it’s about a decade past his bedtime,’ Daisy said, cutting through the tension with a bright smile. Placing a palm on her son’s back, she shot Connor a telling look. ‘We should get him to bed.’ She turned to Mac. ‘We’re so glad you came, Mac. We would have liked to see more of you tonight, but we understand if you feel uncomfortable.’

Juno waited for Mac to deny it. Had he been avoiding Daisy and Connor all evening? And if so why? But he didn’t deny it; in fact he didn’t offer any explanation at all.

Daisy took his hand and gave it a quick squeeze. ‘You’ll always have an open invitation to visit us in London. Whenever you’re ready.’

‘Thanks,’ he said at last, his eyes flicking briefly to Connor and the baby. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you both, and your lad.’

His tone reminded Juno of the polite, distant way he’d spoken to the guests outside the church. And she knew he had no intention of accepting Daisy’s invitation.

After the two brothers bid a stilted farewell to each other and Mac accepted Daisy’s quick hug, Juno watched the couple leave. Connor wrapped his free arm around his wife’s waist and she rested her head on his shoulder. A band of emotion clutched at Juno’s chest. The couple had been as disappointed by what had just happened as she had.

Heartsick for her friends, Juno gathered her courage and made herself ask the question she’d wanted to ask ever since Mac had turned up at the church.

‘What made you change your mind? Why did you come?’ she asked. He’d hurt Daisy and Connor with his reserved behaviour. Did he even realise that? ‘Because it’s pretty obvious you don’t want to celebrate your brother’s wedding.’

His jaw went rigid and his brows lowered over stormy eyes. His face wasn’t expressionless any more. In fact, he looked furious. ‘You think?’ he snapped, the tone brittle with sarcasm.

She opened her mouth to ask what on earth was wrong with him, but before she could get a single syllable out he’d grabbed her wrist and hauled her into the ballroom. He’d shoved his way past several couples slow-dancing in the darkness, dragging her behind him, before she’d got over the shock enough to speak.

‘What are you doing?’ she stammered, struggling to match his lengthy strides, and keep from being hobbled by the long gown wrapping round her ankles.

Either he hadn’t heard her or he didn’t care. He didn’t even break stride. Shock gave way to temper. People were staring at them. People she knew. And if he didn’t slow down she was liable to break an ankle trying to keep up with him. She tried to dig her heels in but he just kept on walking, almost pulling her right off her feet.

Getting more annoyed by the second, she grabbed his hand and tried to prise his grip loose, but his fingers only tightened. They reached the other side of the ballroom and he marched through a set of terraced doors leading onto a secluded balcony. The warm night air hit her skin as he released her to kick the door shut behind them. The sharp slam echoed across the valley and cut the throb of the dance music down to a distant hum.

Her bare back butted against the old stone of the balcony rail as he bore down on her, his dark shape silhouetted by the torches framing the door. Anger and something a great deal more disturbing glittered in his eyes.

A shiver rippled down her spine as she got the sudden impression of a tiger let loose from its cage.

‘H-have you gone completely mental?’ she stammered, starting to feel unpleasantly like that damn rabbit again.

‘How long does it take to change a pair of shoes?’ he snarled, his voice dangerously low. ‘I’ve been searching the place for you for the last three hours.’

She sucked in a hasty breath. So astonished at the accusation she didn’t have a clue what to say. She could not possibly be flattered. That would be nuts. The wayward emotion flowing through her had to be something else.

‘You were supposed to be showing me around, darlin’. Remember? Not hiding from me like some frightened little schoolgirl.’

Okay, that wasn’t flattering, it was insulting.

‘A what…?’ she sputtered. Who the heck did he think he was anyway? He’d just hauled her across the dance floor in front of everyone like a sack of potatoes. ‘You were getting enough attention,’ she snapped, regrouping as best she could. ‘You hardly needed me there, too.’

‘Damn. You were hiding from me? What the hell for?’ Now he sounded incredulous as well as furious.

Her chin shot up as she fought the blush. ‘I was not hiding from you, you conceited jerk.’ But she had been, and she knew it.

His eyes narrowed and it was obvious he knew it too. The blush got worse.

He grasped her arm, tugged her onto her toes. ‘What game are you playing?’ He held her chin, forced her face up. ‘First you kiss me until I’m so hot I can’t see straight. Then you run off. And now you’re doing the whole damn thing all over again.’ He searched her face with an intensity that had heat flooding between her thighs. ‘Stop playing hard to get. There’s no need,’ he murmured, his lips a millimetre from hers. ‘Believe me, you’ve already got my full attention.’

She flattened her palms against the rigid muscles of his chest, her body shaking. His arms banded around her waist, crushing her in his embrace, his heat burning through the thin fabric of her dress.

‘I don’t want your full attention,’ she said desperately, but the words were breathless and unconvincing, her pulse fluttering like the wings of a trapped bird.

‘Is that so?’ he said, clasping her neck, sinking his fingers into her hair. ‘Why don’t you prove it, then?’

She heard her own staggered gasp moments before his lips swooped down in a harsh, punishing kiss. Her fingers fisted convulsively in his shirt, but her lips parted and she surrendered to the powerful possessive strokes of his tongue. A fissure of raw, flaming need cracked open and sent the earthquake racking her body right off the Richter scale.

‘Kiss me back,’ he urged in a strained whisper.

Her arms lifted and circled his neck, all thoughts of resistance gone as the bone-deep longing, the wild, crazy thrill of exhilaration, fizzed inside her like vintage champagne. Their tongues tangled in a frantic dance. A new unknown power surged through her as he shuddered in response.

He tore his lips away, his breathing as ragged as hers. ‘No more games,’ he murmured.

He held her cheeks in his palms, his eyes black with desire. ‘I came here tonight because I want you. My hotel’s in the next valley. If we hurry we should be there in ten minutes.’

She searched his face, harsh with desire, and struggled to make sense of what was happening to her.

Mac had lit a fuse inside her that was about to explode. She wanted him to keep on touching her, to keep on kissing her. She was tired of being afraid. Tired of denying herself the kind of human contact that every woman was supposed to crave. She’d never craved it before. Not even with Tony. But she craved it now. This was the moment she’d been waiting for. The moment when she got to triumph over what had happened six years ago. She had to seize it or she could well regret it for the rest of her life.

So she said the only thing that seemed important. ‘I don’t have any protection with me.’

‘Lord, I love practical women.’ He barked out a laugh. ‘Don’t worry, I came prepared, but the supplies are back at the hotel.’

He stroked his thumbs down her neck and gripped her bare shoulders in hot hands. ‘Are you sure about this?’

That he would ask, when it had to be obvious she was already a sure thing, gave her the courage to take that final leap into insanity.

She nodded.

‘Thank heaven for that,’ he said, grasping her hand and marching back across the balcony. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here. We’ve wasted enough time already.’

Chapter Five

MAC got to the hotel in eight minutes flat, driving the Porsche like a maniac as Juno sat trembling in the passenger seat. The scent of leather and man cocooned her in a world of the senses. She tried to focus only on the physical. The painful throb of her heartbeat, the sharp, heady fragrance of arousal that permeated the car and the rush of the warm night air in her hair as the dark countryside flashed past. She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t allow herself to think about consequences, about caution or practicality.

But as she rushed to follow his long strides through the hotel lobby and up the stairs to his suite her mind tumbled back to that long-ago summer. What if she were getting in over her head? What if she couldn’t handle what was going to happen?

She walked through the door into his suite and forced herself to remember she wasn’t that foolish girl any more. She’d grown up. She’d survived the very worst and now she was taking the next step. This night with Mac had nothing whatsoever to do with love or dreams. And everything to do with purely physical pleasure. Tony had stolen something from her all those years ago and now she was going to get it back. And that was all that mattered.

Mac didn’t ask her permission, he simply strolled through the suite’s drawing room into his bedroom, her hand still clutched tight in his. He hadn’t said a word and neither had she since they’d left the chÂteau.

Her pulse pounded as he stripped off his jacket and threw it over a chair, then flicked up a switch on the wall. The light dazzled her for a second before he came into focus, looking imposingly masculine and out of place amid the room’s fussy antique furniture. Then her gaze snagged on the distinctive bulge in his trousers and she froze.

‘What is it?’

Her eyes shot to his face. ‘Nothing,’ she mumbled, feeling like a naÏve fool as a whole new set of doubts crowded in.

What if she was terrible at this? What if she made a mistake? In the comforting shadows of the balcony, with him kissing her, holding her, the physical chemistry between them had seemed so simple, so natural, so right. But now, under the bright lights of his hotel bedroom, with his body so obviously hard and ready, it didn’t seem simple any more.

She knew next to nothing about sex. She hadn’t made love in six years and the little she remembered about that one brief liaison hadn’t exactly prepared her to sleep with a man like Mac Brody.

A man who’d probably had more good sex than she’d had hot dinners.

He placed a hand on her shoulder and she jumped.

‘Easy, darlin’,’ he said, stroking his thumb into the hollow of her collarbone. He pressed a kiss to her cheek. ‘Relax. This’ll be good for both of us, I promise.’ He took her hand, led her to the bed. ‘Let’s lie down. Take it slow and easy. I’m not going to jump you straight off. I swear.’

She couldn’t speak, the rapid beats of her heart hammering against her throat. If only he would jump her. Then she could get this over with quickly, before she lost her nerve completely.

He settled next to her, his long, lean body making the mattress dip.

Pushing her hair back, he nuzzled the sensitive skin beneath her ear. The kiss was barely a whisper, but the sizzle of awareness shot through her, giving her a much-needed burst of courage.

Stay in the moment, Juno. Just stay in the moment.

She reached for his shirt, yanked it free of his trousers with clumsy haste. As he teased her neck with light butterfly kisses her palm explored the hot, muscled flesh, discovering the ridges of his six pack and the thin trail of hair bisecting his belly button. But then his fingers slipped under the straps of her dress, easing the bodice down and exposing the lace at her cleavage. She shuddered, her hands trembling to a halt on his belly.

She didn’t think she could do this.

He moved back. Lifting her fingers, he kissed the knuckles. ‘Okay, enough of that now.’ His voice rasped, the strain clear. ‘You look scared to death. What’s wrong?’

She swallowed, the tiny bit of courage deserting her. Could he see? Could he already tell how useless she was at this?

‘Can we turn the lights off?’ she whispered. She didn’t want him to see her naked. Her breasts were small, her hips narrow and boyish.

He cupped her cheek, a tenderness in his eyes she hadn’t expected. ‘No, we can’t. I haven’t waited two long weeks to make love to you in the dark.’

She opened her mouth to object, but he pressed a finger to her lips.

‘Let’s compromise.’

He left the bed to turn off the main light switch, leaving only the pearly glow from the bedside lamp. Even so, panic consumed her as he returned.

This whole scenario had the potential to be a total disaster. Why hadn’t she thought it through?

She shut her eyes and braced herself, expecting him to continue undressing her. But he took her hand and flattened the palm against the front of his shirt.

‘How about you set the pace?’ he said.

Her eyes flew open. ‘You don’t mind?’ she whispered, pathetically grateful for the unexpected respite.

‘Why would I mind?’ he said, the tilt of his lips full of sexual promise. ‘You’re going to be doing all the work.’

She gave a small smile back, the pressure in her chest releasing a tiny bit. Maybe this wouldn’t be a total disaster.

Her hands trembled as she slipped the small buttons of his shirt out of their buttonholes. With each new glimpse of the tanned, lightly haired torso, she wrestled back a tiny bit of control, another whisper of courage. And slowly but steadily, the well of desire sprang back to life.

He smelled delicious, clean soap and spicy aftershave and the musky scent of man. She opened the sides of his shirt, nudged the starched cotton off broad shoulders. As her courage grew she indulged herself. She investigated the flat brown nipples nestled in the dark curls of hair, heard his muffled grunt as she learned the contours and textures of his heavily muscled chest, the ridged definition of his abdomen. But as the exploration inched lower her fingers slowed and eventually stopped dead on the waistband of his trousers. She couldn’t take her eyes off the bulge, which had got a great deal more prominent.

The breath backed up in her lungs. She’d thought she could handle him, could handle what was going to happen between them. But was she really ready to handle that?

His hand covered hers. ‘Juno, is this your first time?’

She looked up to find him watching her. Embarrassment scorched her cheeks at the perceptiveness in his gaze. ‘Of course not. I’m twenty-two years old,’ she said, wanting to sound indignant.

‘But you’ve little experience. Am I right?’

Mortification engulfed her. She grappled to pull up the straps of her dress. She had to get away, get out of here, before she made an even bigger mess of things. But as she tried to sit up he grasped her wrist.

‘What’s this now? Where are you off to?’ he asked, sounding both amused and confused.

She tugged on her arm, refusing to look at him. ‘You’re right. I haven’t got much experience at this. In fact I’ve got hardly any,’ she said. What was the point in pretending? She might have matured emotionally since that hideous night six years ago, but that wasn’t going to be enough. Not to deal with a man like Mac Brody. ‘After all the women you’ve slept with, you’re bound to be disappointed,’ she finished, feeling utterly defeated.

So much for seizing the moment. How could she ever have believed this would work? Of course he’d seen through her pitiful charade. Wearing a beautiful dress, putting on a bit of make-up, tottering about in high heels, didn’t suddenly make you a sex goddess.

He let go of her wrist and cradled her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. ‘Sweetheart, you’ve no need to worry about disappointing me. If I was any more aroused at the minute, I’d be doing myself an injury.’

His wry amusement washed away a little of her hurt and humiliation.

He sighed. ‘This isn’t a test.’ His thumb cruised the swell of her breasts, dipped into the curve of her cleavage. ‘I’ll not be grading you after the event.’ Her nipple hardened as his thumb circled the rigid peak through her gown. ‘But if you’ve performance anxiety, why don’t I take the lead for a while?’

Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. The rasp of his voice seduced her as she concentrated on the lazy stroking.

‘I doubt I’m as prolific as you think,’ he continued, his clever fingers finding the zip of her dress and giving it a gentle tug. ‘But it seems I’ve got a bit more experience.’ The soft swish as the teeth released seemed deafening in the languid silence.

She shivered as he undressed her, pulling the bodice down and baring her to the waist but for her push-up bra. The lace seemed to have constricted around her lungs like a corset.

‘Lie back,’ he coaxed, tracing his finger in a line of fire down her chest, over the front hook of her bra. ‘Let me do the work for a while.’ She sank into the pillows as the electric touch sizzled across her abdomen and drew circles around her belly button. ‘All you need do is tell me what you like.’

‘But I don’t know what I like,’ she panted out and then bit her lip.

Why had she said that? He’d think she was a moron.

He flashed her a cocky grin, his large palm flattening on her waist. ‘Then we’re going to have a hell of a time finding out.’

She nodded, not sure she could speak.

‘Good girl,’ he said, touching his lips to hers as his hand swept up and deftly undid her bra.

She jolted, panic assaulting her as he nudged the cups aside. ‘Please, don’t.’

She tried to cover herself, but his hands gently bracketed her upper arms, pinning her to the bed. She shut her eyes, her body quivering with acute embarrassment as she felt his gaze on her breasts. She’d always known she wasn’t well endowed, but it hadn’t bothered her too much. Until now.

‘Why would you hide yourself?’ The words were gruff with astonishment.

Her eyes opened to see the fierce approval in his gaze. A brutal blush fanned out across her chest. ‘They’re a bit small,’ she whispered.

He gave a soft chuckle, shaking his head. ‘Are they?’

Releasing her arms, he cupped her breast in one hot palm. He rubbed his thumb across the nipple and bent to capture it with his mouth. The peak engorged in a rush as his teeth teased and bit softly into the sensitive flesh. She arched into his mouth as darts of fire arrowed to her core.

She panted, her breathing harsh as he feasted on one breast then the other, stroking and kissing and nipping, then drawing the peak into his mouth and suckling hard.

‘They’re so sensitive, so responsive,’ he whispered, his breath cool against her fevered flesh as he lifted his head. ‘Don’t you know how beautiful that is?’

‘Is it?’

He dropped his forehead to hers, sighed. ‘Darlin’, let’s get you naked. I’d no idea you had so much to learn.’

She could hear the teasing note in his voice. And she didn’t care. She wanted to learn it all now, and she wanted him to be the one to teach her.

So she lifted her bottom as he stripped off her dress and didn’t resist as the final barrier of lacy satin followed her other garments to the floor.

‘You’re gorgeous,’ he murmured, his hands caressing with tantalising slowness—moulding her breasts, sweeping over the curve of her buttocks and stroking her thighs.

Desperation seized her as he delved into the curls between her legs. Heat coiled as his fingers got frustratingly close to her centre and then withdrew. Was he trying to drive her mad? Why wasn’t he touching her where she wanted to be touched the most?

‘Please…There.’ The words choked out as she grasped his shoulders and raised her hips, instinctively seeking that crucial touch.

He laughed, the sound oddly tense. ‘Now you’re getting the hang of it.’

She wanted to reprimand the smug tone, but then his fingers plunged into the wet heat at last and she couldn’t think, let alone speak. She jerked wildly, her nails scraping his back, shocked by the brutal pleasure that twisted viciously inside her. He stroked and rubbed, torturing the pulsing nub, making her sob as her senses rioted, desperate for release.

The broken cry echoed in her head as her body clamped down and then shattered into a billion glittering pieces.

Mac eased his zip down, his erection painfully swollen as it sprang free.

He wanted to make this last, he wanted it to be as good for them both as he’d promised. But watching her climax had lit a fire in his gut that was fast turning to an inferno. For the first time in his life he was in serious danger of losing his precious control. He forced himself to steady his breathing as he kicked off his trousers and boxer shorts and sheathed himself with the condom.

Her eyelids fluttered open and a tentative smile curved her lips, those gorgeous aquamarine eyes all fuzzy with afterglow.

He drew his thumb over the downy skin of her cheek. ‘How was that now?’

‘Amazing,’ she whispered, sounding shocked and happy. ‘I had no idea…’ she began, then broke off. Her cheeks flushed a bright rosy pink, off-setting the vivid colour of her eyes beautifully.

He let his hand drop. He could actually feel his heart throbbing. He wanted her, with a power he hadn’t felt since he had been an untried lad of thirteen, and sex had been the holy grail of his existence.

The irrational thought had a tiny slither of unease wedging itself into the thick haze of lust. He ignored it. She wasn’t a virgin. She’d told him so. And neither was he—even if her inexperienced, untutored response had made him feel like a boy again.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you so much. I didn’t expect…’ She stopped, gave a breathless laugh, the sound sultry and yet unbearably sweet. ‘I didn’t expect it to be that good.’

Pride surged through him. Pride and something that felt uncomfortably like possessiveness.

‘There’s no need to thank me,’ he said, taking her hand in his and kissing her fingertips. ‘As I’m now planning to get my reward.’

‘Oh, yes, of course.’ She shifted against him, her naked hip brushing his erection as she glanced down. ‘I’m sorry, you haven’t…Yet…’

She looked both panicked and perplexed and he wanted to hug her. He’d thought she was cute the first time he’d laid eyes on her. She wasn’t cute. She was adorable.

He hooked his hand around her waist, tugged her closer. ‘How do you feel about round two?’ he said, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice. He couldn’t wait much longer, but he didn’t want to rush her and ruin it.

‘If it’s as good as round one,’ she said with bravado, ‘I’m all for it.’ Then she slipped trembling arms around his neck.

‘I’ll do my best,’ he said, praying for patience as he grasped her hips and hauled her under him.

She stared up at him, offering herself in a gesture so fearless and so giving he felt something twist hard in his gut.

Ignoring it, he positioned himself at her entrance and sank into her.

Juno groaned, the pressure immense as the blunt head of his erection pushed into the slick swollen folds of her sex. His hands angled her hips, easing his entry, but still it felt overwhelming. The muscles of her sex clenched, her fingers clutching his neck as a moan escaped her, the pleasure replaced by a brutally stretched feeling that was too close to pain.

‘Shh,’ he crooned, pushing the damp hair from her brow. ‘It’ll take a minute, darlin’.’

He held still for what seemed like hours but could only have been moments as she adjusted to the solid length. Then he moved, her breath catching as he lodged deeper still. The discomfort dimmed, overpowered by a staggering feeling of fullness.

She sobbed at the shocking burst of pure pleasure as he flexed his hips and nudged a place deep inside.

‘Now was that good, or bad?’ he asked, sweat glowing on his forehead.

‘Good. It was good.’ Her voice broke. ‘Can you do it again?’

He chuckled, the sound rich and self-satisfied and tinged with desperation. ‘I’ll give it my best shot.’

She wrapped her thighs around his waist and held on for dear life, bucking clumsily beneath him as the slow, solid thrusts got stronger, faster and more relentless. Her cries punctuated his harsh grunts as the bursts of pleasure intensified, rolling into one unstoppable wave.

She rode the crest for an eternity. Exquisite pain, indescribable pleasure crashing over her as she soared through that final brutal peak into oblivion.

Chapter Six

JUNO languished in the last throes of the mind-blowing orgasm cocooned in Mac’s arms. Her back cradled against his chest, she could still feel him, semi-erect, outlined against her bottom as his hand covered her breast. His measured breathing brushed her nape.

‘So, are you ready now for your marks out of ten?’ he murmured.

The wry tone made her lips quirk.

She should have been embarrassed, but she felt so lethargic, so sated, so good about herself it was hard to feel anything but complete satisfaction. She’d done it. She’d finally found out what all the fuss was about, and it had been glorious.

‘If it’s not at least a nine I don’t want to know,’ she replied boldly, and basked in his answering chuckle.

‘I’m thinking ten out of ten for initiative, five out of ten for staying power.’

She nudged him with an elbow and he laughed, tightening his arm round her waist.

‘Now, now, all I’m saying is we’re going to have to work on your stamina, darlin’.’

His warm teasing had pride swelling her chest.

They’d been good together, so much better than expected. She might not be the best sex he’d ever had, but she hadn’t disappointed him, or herself. To use one of Daisy’s analogies, she’d got back on the horse and she hadn’t fallen off. And, as predicted, it had been a spectacular ride.

She grinned, snuggled against him and hissed as the aching tenderness between her thighs caught her unawares.

‘There now.’ He rolled her over and searched her face. ‘I hurt you?’

‘No, you didn’t,’ she said, moved by the worried frown. She shifted her bottom and felt the slight soreness again. ‘It’s just…It’s been a while.’

‘Damn, I’m sorry,’ he said, rubbing his palm on her midriff. ‘How long has it been?’

She curled away from him and drew her knees up, feeling a little self-conscious after all. ‘A while. That’s all.’

He trailed a finger along the curve of her neck, tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘There’s no need to be embarrassed. You’re a beautiful and passionate woman. I’m only curious.’ His hand rested on her hip. ‘How long exactly is a while?’

She huffed out a breath and considered lying to him, but discarded the idea. Why should she be ashamed? ‘Six years.’

‘Six…?’ The bed bounced as he pulled her onto her back. ‘Six years? But you would have been little more than a child.’

‘I wasn’t a child,’ she said abruptly, her heart tripping at the concern in his gaze. ‘I knew exactly what I was doing.’ She hadn’t been prepared for the consequences of her actions, but that didn’t matter any more.

‘Hell, Juno.’ He framed her face, planted a kiss so full of tenderness on her lips she felt a frightening ache around her heart. ‘What happened?’

She took his hands in hers, pulled them from her face. The ache getting worse.

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t risk falling into any kind of intimacy with this man. What they’d done could never mean anything more than one night of pleasure. She knew that. He was so far out of her league it wasn’t even funny. And even if he hadn’t been, she knew she couldn’t afford to mistake sex for love. Not a second time.

‘It was a long time ago,’ she said flatly. ‘It’s not important.’

She lifted the sheet, scooted across the bed, shivering despite the sultry summer heat. ‘I’m tired. I ought to go.’

But as she bent to pick up her discarded gown the bed tilted behind her and then long thighs bracketed hers. His arms folded around her waist, trapping her against him. ‘Stay.’ He let out a slow breath. ‘Stay for tonight. No more questions, I promise.’

She should go, but somehow the warmth of his arms, the brush of his breath against the top of her head felt so solid, so reassuring she couldn’t make herself say the words.

‘Come on, darlin’,’ he murmured against her ear lobe. ‘I won’t ravish you again. We both need our sleep. And it’s late. Past midnight. You won’t get a taxi too easily at this time of the night.’

She watched over her shoulder as he piled the pillows against the bed’s ornate headboard. Propping himself on them, he reached out, threaded his fingers through hers.

‘Come back to bed,’ he whispered, the rough cadence of his voice more addictive than any drug. ‘I’ll give you a lift wherever you need to be first thing in the morning.’

She gave a huge yawn and he chuckled.

‘Lord love it, but good sex is exhausting, isn’t it?’ he teased, cradling her head on his shoulder and drawing the sheet up to cover them.

‘I can’t stay for long,’ she murmured, another yawn escaping as she snuggled into his embrace.

She couldn’t stay the whole night. That would be dangerously self-indulgent. But what real harm would it do to stay for a little while? She knew exactly where she stood. Exactly what this meant and what it didn’t. She’d sorted it all out clearly in her mind. And her limbs seemed to have got so heavy, as if she’d been running a marathon. She laid her hand on his chest, took a deep breath of his exquisite scent and felt the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath her palm.

It felt so nice to be held, just once.

Her eyelids drifted closed as she gave herself permission to enjoy the feeling. For a little while.

He should have let her go. Why hadn’t he let her leave?

The question tormented Mac as Juno’s head grew heavy on his shoulder and her body relaxed into sleep. He switched off the bedside lamp and glanced down as a beam of moonlight turned her soft curls to a dull gold.

Hadn’t he always avoided cuddling after sex? Sharing a bed all night made him feel claustrophobic. So why didn’t it feel claustrophobic now? Why did it feel reassuring, listening to her gentle snores and having her body snug under his arm?

And why couldn’t he get rid of that picture of her at sixteen, alone and vulnerable, out of his head?

Something had happened to her six years ago, something unpleasant. Why else would she have gone without sex for so long?

But why should it matter to him? And why should he feel responsible?

He’d been careful with her, patient even, though it had nearly killed him. But for some dumb reason he’d still needed to hold her tonight, to keep her with him. To be sure she was all right.

He squeezed his eyes shut, a series of other unsettling pictures from the day intruding on his memory like unwelcome ghosts. Connor and Daisy walking down the aisle towards him, their hands clasped together. Connor’s baby son asleep in his daddy’s arms. The flicker of fear in Juno’s face when she’d caught sight of his arousal for the first time.

He sighed. Was it any wonder he was behaving irrationally? Hadn’t he been on an emotional roller coaster the whole day?

Coming to Connor’s wedding had been a mistake. He’d known it from the start, but he’d let his libido rule his head and come anyway—and very nearly opened up old wounds in the process. He’d taken advantage of the girl, and used the attraction between them to make sure he kept those wounds well and truly closed. And now he was paying the price.

Guilt. Good old Catholic guilt. That was all this was. He didn’t feel responsible for her, he felt guilty about the way he’d used her. Especially once he’d found out how innocent she was.

He inhaled the summer-meadow scent of her shampoo, listened to her breathing and a wry smile curved his lips.

What was he beating himself up for? He’d given her a good time. More than a good time. He was pretty sure he’d given her her first orgasm. She’d even thanked him for it. So what if he’d used her—she’d enjoyed it, hadn’t she?

Arousal pulsed in his loins at the memory of how much they’d both enjoyed it.

Down, boy. A repeat performance wasn’t the best idea.

He’d be letting her go in the morning with no regrets.

He needed to return to his life and the work he loved. To get back to the clean, uncomplicated solitude of his house in Laguna Beach. And he needed to forget all about Connor and his family, and the girl lying so trustingly in his arms.

But as he fell into dreams she shuddered in her sleep, and his arm tightened around her shoulders instinctively.

Chapter Seven

JUNO lurched awake to the sound of an overzealous sparrow on dawn-chorus duty, the brilliant morning sunshine blurring her vision, but none of her other senses.

The heady scent of sex smothered the light perfume of the terrace flowers. Goosebumps prickled on her naked skin and a large, rough hand lay possessively on her hip. A low grunt sounded behind her and the hand twitched, sending shock waves rippling through her.

She sneaked a look over her shoulder. And her vision—and all the torrid memories from the night before—came into sharp, vivid focus. Mac Brody lay spreadeagled on his stomach, his broad shoulders and long legs hogging most of the bed and the sheet riding low on his buttocks. His back rose and fell in a steady rhythm. The shadow of stubble on his jaw made him look as swarthy as a pirate, highlighting chiselled cheekbones, but his thick dark lashes were almost boyish.

She shifted onto her back and lifted his hand to place it by his side, being careful not to wake him. She paused, noticing for the first time the nasty scar that slashed from his bicep down to his elbow. Why hadn’t she noticed that last night? The hot spot between her legs pulsed hard as she took in the red scratches on the tanned skin of his shoulder blade. Of course she hadn’t noticed the scar, she’d been too busy availing herself of his staggering skills as a lover.

Not that she was an expert on such things, but she’d leapt into the lion’s den last night and he’d made it the most exhilarating, the most erotic experience of her life. He’d been so careful with her, so patient. Knowing who he was and what he was, she never would have expected such care or generosity.

Edging closer to him, she pressed a light kiss to his cheekbone. He gave a soft grunt, but didn’t stir.

‘Thank you, Mac Brody,’ she whispered, and felt the tingle of tears.

Horrified, she wiped her eyes. What was she doing? She mustn’t let herself get over-emotional about their night together. It was only sex—and she had to remember that.

Her heart wedged into her throat. She should never have spent the entire night in his arms. This was just the sort of intimacy she’d been determined to avoid.

They’d made no promises, no commitments. How long was he even likely to remember her name? After all, a man didn’t make love like that unless he’d had a lot of practice.

She slipped out of the bed. She’d seized her Cinderella moment and made the most of it. But she’d taken a foolish, self-indulgent risk falling asleep in his arms. She wasn’t about to make it worse by hanging around like some star-struck groupie until he woke up.

Having wiggled into her underwear and the heavily creased gown, she gathered up her shoes and crossed the room. She hesitated next to the antique desk beside the door, then picked up a pen and dashed off a quick note on the hotel’s letterheaded stationery. She folded the thick white paper, scribbled Mac’s name across it, then tiptoed to the bed to prop it by the phone on the bedside table.

Tilting her head, she took one last opportunity to admire Mac’s magnificent body sprawled across most of the bed. And felt the inevitable throb of response.

How could he still look so dangerous when he was fast asleep?

She took a fortifying breath and crept back across the silk carpet barefoot, suddenly eager to get as far away as possible. But as she shut the door the soft click of the lock echoed in some small neglected corner of her heart.

Five hours later, a raucous ring jolted Mac out of a nicely carnal erotic fantasy. Swearing, he kept his eyes shut and groped for the phone.

‘Brody,’ he grunted into the mouthpiece once he’d finally located the damn thing. ‘This better be really good.’

‘Mac, why have you had your cell off for two days? And what the heck are you doing in France, man?’

Mac groaned, recognising the harassed Brooklyn accent of his personal publicist, Mickey Carver. ‘None of your business, Mick,’ he said, his head now throbbing as insistently as his groin. He went to dump the phone, but heard Mickey’s panicked plea crackling down the line.

‘Don’t hang up, Mac. I’m begging you, here.’

He exhaled slowly and brought the handset back to his ear. There was no point hanging up on Mickey. He’d call the management and have them storm the hotel room. ‘All right, Mick.’ He opened his eyelids and got blasted by five thousand watts of sunshine in both retinas for his trouble. ‘But keep your voice down,’ he whispered, rubbing his eyes. ‘I’m not alone.’

He eased over onto his back and blinked groggily at the indent on the fluffy goose down pillow beside him.

Holding the phone away from his ear, he strained to hear any sound from the en suite. All that greeted him was Mickey’s muffled voice and the rustle of a breeze in the terrace vines.

He frowned. Strange. Where was the woman who had starred in the dream Mickey had so rudely interrupted?

‘Hold up, Mick,’ he said, interrupting the whining monologue he hadn’t heard a word of. ‘Can I call you back?’

Mickey heaved an exaggerated sigh. ‘Sure. But do me a favour. Next time you decide to rearrange the tonsils of some London shop girl, give me a heads up, will you? I’ve been fielding calls from the British tabloids most of the night. They haven’t quit yet and it’s now six in the morning LA time.’

Mac bolted upright, his knuckles whitening on the handset. ‘What did you say?’ he asked, somewhat redundantly, as he’d heard every word this time—and was having the heart palpitations to prove it.

‘The photos are all over the morning papers in the UK.’

‘What photos?’ Why couldn’t Mickey ever get to the point?

‘Of you and the shop girl,’ Mickey said, sounding taken aback. ‘Getting physical on some balcony in France.’

Mac’s astonishment turned to fury.

Some bastard had snapped their photo last night. And now that private, impossibly sexy kiss had been served up for public consumption, to titillate people over their morning coffee. A snarled expletive cut the country quiet as his stomach turned over.

‘Hey, man. Don’t sweat it.’ Mickey’s voice drifted on as Mac’s temper surged out of control. ‘They’re long-range but you both look really hot. All we need here is our own angle.’

He hated those damn parasites. Why couldn’t they leave him the hell alone?

‘It’ll be great publicity for the European release of Death Game,’ Mickey wittered on. ‘Especially as the girl’s British. Hey, she’s not there with you, is she?’ Mickey’s voice peaked with excitement. ‘Could I get a quote?’

Mac took a couple of deep breaths. ‘No, she’s not here,’ he growled, suddenly glad of her temporary absence.

He wanted to kill someone and it might as well be the messenger. ‘I don’t want any damn quotes. Not a one. I’ve told you before, my sex life is no one’s business but my own and if you give a single column inch of mileage to this story you’re fired.’

There was a pregnant pause on the end of the line, then Mickey’s voice came back on, considerably subdued. ‘Understood, Mac. How do you want me to spin it, then?’

Was he hitting his head against a brick wall or what?

‘No spin, Mick. No nothing. Tell them no comment and that’ll be the end of it.’

Mickey cleared his throat. ‘Not quite, man.’

‘Why not?’

‘They’ve got the girl’s name.’

Damn. ‘I’ll take care of the girl,’ he said and realised he meant it.

Juno would be completely unprepared for what was about to hit her—and he planned to be there to protect her from the worst of it. He decided not to think about the fact that he’d never been the knight-in-shining-armour type before.

He went to hang up and then a thought occurred to him. He brought the phone back to his ear. ‘Mick, wait. By the way, what is her name?’

He didn’t know where she’d popped off to or how long she’d be and he needed to put the wheels in motion. He’d start by booking them a couple of flights to LA to get her out of harm’s way.

‘Man, you didn’t get her name before you nailed her?’ Mick’s laddish chuckle grated on Mac’s last nerve. ‘Boy, oh, boy, you’re such a player. If I had that kind of power, I’d be hitting on everything that moved too—’

‘Shut up, Mick, and give me her damn name,’ he snapped, not liking the renewed spurt of guilt at his publicist’s insinuations.

He listened to the rustle of paper before Mickey spoke. ‘According to this one she’s called Juno Delamare. Works in some dress shop in Portobello Road in West London named The Funky Fashionista and—’

Mac slammed the phone down, having heard all he needed to. Swinging his legs off the bed, he ran his fingers through his hair, scrubbed his hands down his face. He stared out of the open terrace doors, and noticed how high the sun was in the sky.

What time was it? If it was past six in LA it had to be past noon here. After yesterday’s emotional roller coaster—not to mention the mind-blowing sex—he’d slept like a dead man.

No wonder she wasn’t here. She could have woken up hours ago. She must have headed off in search of breakfast.

His heartbeat evened out for the first time since he’d spotted her empty pillow. He’d have a quick shower and then hunt her down—and tell her how they were going to handle the press.

He stood and stretched, deciding not to dwell on the little resolution he’d made to himself last night to send her packing first thing in the morning. He couldn’t let her go. Not after he’d got her into this mess. She’d just have to spend a couple of weeks with him in LA where she’d be safe from prying eyes.

His lips curved as he wrapped the bed sheet round his waist. After the way things had gone last night, he didn’t see it being a hardship for either one of them.

He took a step forward, heard the crunch and looked down to see a piece of notepaper snagged under his big toe. It had his name written on it in block letters.

He picked it up and opened it.

His heartbeat skipped up as he read the two short sentences, three times over.

Dear Mac,

Thank you for a memorable night.

Have a wonderful life.

Juno

Astonishment came first.

Unbelievable. She hadn’t gone out for a croissant, she’d run out on him.

Swiftly followed by temper. He crushed the letter in his fist.

She hadn’t just run out on him, she’d left him a damn kiss-off note.

What exactly did she mean by ‘memorable night’? Like he was some convenient stud she could dump when it suited her. And that crack about having a wonderful life. So she’d decided they were never going to see each other again, had she?

He stalked across the room and shoved open the door of the en suite. What gave her the right to decide these things all by herself? And then hare off like some scared rabbit before they had a chance to discuss it.

She could forget that. No woman gave Mac Brody a kiss-off note, especially once he’d decided he didn’t want to be kissed off.

Dropping the bed sheet, he whipped back the shower curtain with enough force to rip part of it off the rail. He stepped into the tub, cursing the sight of his morning erection standing proud despite his aggravation.

Wasn’t that just fine and dandy?

He switched the shower dial to Froid and gritted his teeth.

If it wasn’t bad enough she’d mortally offended him and done another damn vanishing act, she’d now added injury to her insults.

The frigid water hit him like a slap in the face.

‘Wonderful life, my arse,’ he growled as he reached for the soap.

Chapter Eight

JUNO let Daisy’s excited chatter and Connor’s calm measured responses float over her as the limousine cruised off the Westway and headed towards Portobello.

Why did she feel so out of sorts?

Ever since she’d arrived at the chÂteau that morning, she’d felt totally unlike herself. Weary and unsettled, dissatisfied and confused. Of course, it didn’t help that her body ached in some very unusual places. Or that her head hurt from fielding Daisy’s endless enquiries about why she’d appeared at eight in the morning still wearing her maid of honour gown. Or that their flight had been delayed for three endless hours in Nice airport because of some oversight with the paperwork.

But why couldn’t she shake this hollow feeling—as if she’d lost something she could never get back? And why did she keep picturing Mac Brody, the bronzed skin of his back gleaming in the dawn light as she shut the hotel door?

She’d promised herself she wouldn’t moon over the man. She couldn’t afford to start believing in fantasies. However mouth-watering this one might have been. And yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

The only explanation was exhaustion.

What she needed was to return to the quiet order of her bedsit, ground herself in real life again and sleep for a week.

A tired sigh left her lips as the pale Georgian terraces of Colville Gardens glided past the car window. Not long now.

‘What the hell..?’ Connor’s startled shout had Juno’s drooping eyelids jerking open.

She peered out of the limo’s tinted window. How peculiar. A herd of people crowded round the front of Daisy and Connor’s house, spilling off the pavement and blocking the road. Then one man with two enormous cameras hanging from his neck broke from the herd and ran towards them. He lifted one of his cameras and fired. The flash of strobe lighting seared Juno’s eyeballs like a flame-thrower. By the time she’d refocused the pack of photographers had surrounded the vehicle like ravening wolves.

‘We’ll have to run for it.’ Connor lifted Ronan out of his car seat and cocooned the crying baby against his shoulder. He tapped the partition. ‘Jim, get as close as you can and then call the police.’

The chauffeur signalled with his mobile, already dialling the local constabulary.

Juno stumbled out of the car behind Daisy and Connor. The barrage of flashes blinded her as whirring shutter clicks and urgent shouts battered her eardrums. She shielded her eyes from the glare and gripped Daisy’s hand as they elbowed their way through the crowd. But she couldn’t shield her ears from the questions fired at her like bullets.

‘Juno, how long have you known Mac Brody?’ ‘Is he as hot as everyone says, Juno?’ ‘You two an item now?’ ‘Where’s Mac? Will he be visiting you in Portobello for another night of passion?’

Her head throbbed and her eyes stung as she and Daisy ran up the steps of the house behind Connor and the baby, flashbulbs exploding in her face like a demented fireworks display.

She could hear Ronan’s high-pitched wailing as Connor shoved open the door, jostled them inside and then slammed it in the face of the media horde.

‘What the hell was that all about?’ Connor shouted.

‘Keep your voice down,’ Daisy admonished him. She scooped the distressed baby out of Connor’s arms and rocked him.

All three of them jumped when a newspaper landed on the mat and a nose and mouth appeared in the letter slot. ‘Fantastic picture, Juno. You sure you ain’t got a comment?’ a disembodied cockney voice pleaded.

Connor swore and slapped the flap shut as he bent to pick up the newspaper. ‘Take this and go to the study,’ he said, shoving the paper into Juno’s hands. ‘I’ll wait for the police.’ He pulled his mobile out of his top pocket. ‘The firm’s security can send over some muscle as well.’

Juno followed Daisy and the baby to the study, consumed by guilt.

Why hadn’t she thought of the possible fallout from last night? Mac was a famous man. Of course their little tryst wouldn’t have remained a secret. And now she’d brought this madness down on Connor and Daisy, on the first day of their honeymoon.

Daisy peeked out of the study window. ‘Good grief, they’re like a swarm of locusts,’ she murmured, her voice ripe with fascination as she let the curtain fall.

‘This is all my fault,’ Juno mumbled, hideously ashamed.

‘Ju, what on earth’s the matter?’ Daisy hurried over and took her arm. ‘Sit down before you fall down.’

Juno sank onto the sofa. Daisy perched beside her as Ronan’s cries turned to jerky sobs. Juno’s guilt intensified. How could she have been so thoughtless and irresponsible last night?

She stroked a trembling palm down Ronan’s curls, his gulping sobs piercing her heart. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘Will Ronan be all right?’

‘Ronan will be fine,’ Daisy said easily. ‘He’s had a bit of a shock, that’s all.’ Unbuttoning her blouse, she lifted her breast deftly out of her nursing bra and the baby’s mouth latched onto her nipple. His sobs gentled as he concentrated on sucking voraciously. ‘You see, all sorted.’

Daisy patted Juno’s knee and smiled. ‘You can stop shaking now, he’s okay.’ She nodded at the paper still clutched forgotten in Juno’s fist. ‘Why don’t we see what the fuss is about?’

Juno unfolded the paper on her lap and gawped at the front page.

Underneath the banner headline ‘Hollywood Hunk Brody’s Night of Passion with London Shop Girl’ was a huge, grainy, colour photograph. Despite the poor picture quality, the image had recognition blazing through Juno like a fireball. Mac towered over her on the chÂteau balcony, his dark head obscuring most of her face as his mouth devoured hers. His large hand covered her bottom, drawing her close, while her fingers clutched at his shoulders as she kissed him back for all she was worth.

Daisy hummed. ‘Suddenly, the mystery is solved.’

Juno slapped the paper closed, despair and humiliation churning in her stomach. How did you go about explaining the unexplainable? ‘I didn’t plan for it to happen. He kissed me on the balcony—and we sort of got carried away.’

‘I can see that,’ Daisy said, a smile lurking at the corners of her mouth.

‘This is so awful.’ How typical that her big Cinderella moment should turn into a pantomime disaster.

‘No, it’s not,’ Daisy said firmly, easing Ronan off her breast. She lifted the baby onto her shoulder and patted his back. ‘Actually, I think it’s fabulous.’ The smile became a mischievous grin. ‘Now, I have two very important questions to ask. Was your night of passion with the Hollywood Hunk as hot as it looks from that photo? And when are you seeing him again?’

The blush that flooded Juno’s cheeks had Daisy chuckling. ‘Okay, scratch question one,’ she said. ‘I think I got my answer to that one.’

‘I’m not seeing him again,’ Juno said firmly. ‘It was strictly a one-night deal.’

‘Who says? Did he say that?’

‘Not in so many words,’ Juno said carefully. ‘He was still asleep when I left this morning.’

Daisy’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You ran out on him? A man most women would kill for. Are you nuts?’

‘I didn’t want to wake him,’ she said plaintively. ‘I left him a note.’ Fine, so it sounded a bit lame now, even to her. But that was hardly the point. ‘Anyway, it’s academic. He wasn’t looking for more than one night—and neither was I.’

It was the truth. Even if her heartbeat did the two-step every time she thought about him. That could only be leftover sexual chemistry—anything else would signal disaster.

Daisy adjusted the sleeping Ronan on her shoulder and gave Juno a look that made her want to squirm. ‘How do you know? You didn’t wait to find out.’

‘I didn’t need to wait,’ she said deliberately. ‘It was understood. I was being realistic.’ Wherever Daisy was going with this, she didn’t want to follow. Daisy was a bona fide hopeless romantic; she wouldn’t know realistic if it hit her over the head.

Daisy held up her palm. ‘Don’t even think about hiding behind that being realistic baloney. There’s a time for realism and there’s a time for letting your inner nymphomaniac loose and going completely insane. Having the opportunity for a wild fling with Mac Brody would definitely qualify as the latter.’ She sighed. ‘I can’t believe you let a chance like this slip through your fingers. Forget slip. You just chucked it under a bus.’

‘Daisy, don’t. It’s over and done with.’

Daisy’s expression sobered, making Juno feel very, very uneasy. ‘Don’t do this, Juno. Not now. Not after everything you’ve achieved in the last couple of weeks.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ But she had a bad feeling she did know, and she didn’t want to hear it.

‘Juno, ever since you met Mac at Heathrow and shared that kiss, I’ve seen a side of you I’ve never seen before, and it’s been wonderful to watch. Honestly, it’s been like seeing a butterfly coming out of its cocoon and learning to spread its wings.’ Daisy gave a sad smile. ‘Don’t you see, you were finally starting to get your spirit back? Just look at the way you wore that maid of honour gown, even though you felt naked in it. And the way you had the guts to spend the night with Mac.’ Daisy’s tone deepened. ‘I bet you were scared to death when you got to his hotel room, weren’t you?’

Juno’s blush returned full force. ‘Maybe a bit. But he was okay about it. Actually, he was pretty amazing really.’

Daisy let out a deep sigh. ‘So why did you run out on him?’

‘Because I didn’t want to make a fool of myself,’ Juno blurted out. So it made her sound pathetic? So what. It didn’t alter the facts. She couldn’t get drawn into another impossible romantic fantasy with a man who wasn’t interested. ‘For goodness’ sake, Daisy, he may be Connor’s brother, but he’s a movie star. He has women far more gorgeous and glamorous than me falling all over him. I didn’t want to have him patronise me and pretend he cared when he didn’t. It would have been embarrassing.’ And it would have crushed the thrilling feeling of power, of achievement.

She’d discovered something wonderful last night. That the world wasn’t going to collapse around her if she took a chance and went with her instincts. Maybe one day she’d even have the courage to go after what Daisy had found and see if she couldn’t find the same thing for herself. But if and when she did decide to reach for the stars, she would take it one patient step at a time, assessing the risks carefully as she went. She wasn’t going to charge into the unknown, trust to luck and then be forced to spend another six years picking up the pieces of her shattered heart.

‘I’m not you, Daisy,’ she said. ‘And Mac’s not Connor, either. I risked everything once before and it was a disaster. I can’t do it again. And I won’t. Not until I’m sure.’

Daisy clasped her hand, a single tear spilling over her lid. ‘I understand, Juno. I really do. You went through something no sixteen-year-old should ever have to cope with. And I would never want you to put yourself through that again.’ She scrubbed the tear away with an impatient hand. ‘But you have to start trusting your own judgement if you’re ever going to be sure of anything again. Don’t you see that?’

‘Fine, well, my judgement was telling me that Mac Brody was only interested in a one-night stand.’

‘You don’t know that,’ Daisy said, undeterred.

Juno forced out a laugh. ‘You’re just saying that because he’s Connor’s brother. You don’t know him. Do you want to know what he said to me? Why he really came to France?’ she asked.

‘I’d love to know,’ Daisy said.

‘He came because he wanted to sleep with me,’ Juno said grimly, feeling guiltier now than ever.

Instead of looking disgusted, Daisy laughed. ‘I knew it. I hope you were suitably flattered.’

Juno felt the flush heat her cheeks. Of course, she had been flattered. Ridiculously so. But Daisy was missing the point completely. ‘Can’t you see how shallow that makes him? He as good as shunned you and Connor and even little Ronan at the wedding reception. You know he did. I don’t know how you can forgive him for that so easily.’ And how had she?

‘You mustn’t judge him because of that,’ Daisy said, sounding exasperated. ‘The situation between him and Connor is complicated. I told you that.’

‘I know, I know, you said they had a tough childhood, but that doesn’t justify—’

‘Juno, listen to me,’ Daisy interrupted her. ‘They haven’t seen each other since Mac was ten years old. Connor is pretty sure he spent the whole of his teens being shunted from one foster home to another.’ She let out a heavy sigh. ‘I’m not making excuses for him. It really is complicated. And I don’t think he’s as shallow as you think. He’s just careful to guard his emotions.’

Juno closed her mouth. Not sure what to say. She didn’t want to think about Mac as a child, unloved and alone. It would make him seem vulnerable again.

‘The thing is, Juno, you don’t know him either,’ Daisy said. ‘And the little you did know you liked. I believe you said yourself, and I quote, “Mac was really amazing.” Why couldn’t you have enjoyed a bit more of that amazing? And got to know him while you were at it? Instead of running off before you gave yourself the chance?’

‘You think I overreacted?’ Had she overreacted? Had she let herself down? Reverting to her old cut-and-run technique at the first sign of intimacy? Was that why she’d been feeling so empty, so disillusioned ever since she’d crept out of that hotel room? Not because she’d been mooning over Mac, but because she’d taken the coward’s way out?

‘Maybe a teensy-weensy little bit.’ Daisy gave a reluctant laugh. ‘There was always the slight chance Mac wouldn’t have kicked you out on your bum the instant he woke up.’

‘Gee, thanks,’ Juno said, smiling despite the crushing feeling of disappointment pushing at her chest. ‘That makes me feel so much better.’

The sudden barrage of noise from outside startled them both.

‘Quick, hold Ronan and I’ll take a look.’ Daisy passed the baby to Juno and scurried to the window. ‘Maybe it’s the police.’

Juno breathed in Ronan’s sweet talcum-powder scent, not caring about the police or the press any more. The reporters would leave soon enough when they realised her ‘Night of Passion’ with Mac Brody wasn’t going to be repeated. The feeling of disappointment got bigger, squeezing the air out of her lungs.

Why had she been such a coward this morning? She’d already taken a chance on Mac—and then she’d totally chickened out. Would it really have been so terrible to stick around? To stand up for herself for a change and see what happened?

Daisy flipped open the curtain and peered out. ‘Well, well, well.’ Sending Juno a bright smile, she beckoned her over. ‘Take a look at this.’

Juno walked to the window, Ronan heavy in her arms as Daisy pulled the curtain back.

Her head spun as she stared at the tall figure taking the steps to Daisy and Connor’s door two at a time. With his chin up and his eyes shielded by dark glasses, Mac Brody seemed oblivious to the explosion of camera flashes and shouted questions going off like gunshots around him.

Juno’s pulse spiralled out of control as Daisy whispered, ‘Maybe Mr Really Amazing’s going to give you a second chance.’

Chapter Nine

‘WE’RE booked on the ten o’clock flight.’ Mac paced across the study. Yanking one hand out of his pocket, he glanced at his watch. ‘You’d best be getting together whatever you need. We’ve not long before we have to leave.’

‘What flight?’ Even though she could hardly breathe, Juno knew when she was being bulldozed.

Mac stopped pacing and looked at her at last. ‘The flight to LA,’ he announced, as if she had a problem understanding English. ‘I’m not leaving you to the mercy of the press. You’ll be staying with me for the next couple of weeks, till all this nonsense blows over.’

‘Stay? With you?’ she sputtered. ‘But I can’t do that.’

Okay, she couldn’t deny the thrill that had made all her nerve endings tingle when he’d stalked into the study. His charismatic presence had sucked all of the oxygen out of the small room as soon as Daisy had excused herself to give them ‘a little privacy’.

She’d been overjoyed to see him and pathetically flattered that he’d followed her all the way from France.

But being excited to see him was one thing, completely losing her grip on reality quite another. ‘I can’t go to LA. I’m managing the shop tomorrow,’ she said, trying to bring reason and practicality to a conversation fast spinning out of control.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ he said, as if he were being the reasonable one. ‘You won’t be able to get near your shop. They’ll have the place besieged. They’ll stalk you and your customers, scour your bins, stake out your place next door and hunt down your friends until they get the story they want.’

‘They can’t do that,’ she interrupted him, shocked. ‘I’ll get a restraining order.’

‘It takes days to get a restraining order, by which time they’ll have made your life a misery. Believe me, I know. I’ve been in this circus for five years.’ He stepped towards her, cradled her cheek. ‘Come to LA. I’ve an estate in Laguna Beach with proper security where they can’t touch you. They’ll have moved on to their next kill in a few weeks and then you can come home.’

As his knuckle stroked her cheek she stared into his eyes—but the impossibly blue depths were filled with so much sincerity, she immediately smelled a rat. Something wasn’t right. He hadn’t come all this way to save her from the paparazzi. Surely.

She took a step back. ‘Why would you do that? Why would you go to all that trouble? We hardly know each other.’

His lips quirked, one black brow lifting. ‘Something we can certainly remedy while you’re in LA.’

She swallowed, her mouth bone-dry. ‘So you’re not really here to rescue me from the press?’

‘I am,’ he said, the grave statement contradicted somewhat by his sinfully sexy smile. ‘But there’s no law that says we can’t enjoy ourselves while you’re there. As it happens I’ve a few weeks before my next project starts. So I’m in need of a distraction and, it seems, so are you.’

He drew his thumb down the line of her neck; the thrill shot through her like quicksilver and the yearning got worse.

She wanted to go to LA with him, however much she might want to deny it. He made her feel alive and excited in a way she never had before.

She should never have run out on him this morning; it had been cowardly and pathetic. But she had, because there was still some of the frightened, insecure little girl inside her she thought she’d destroyed years ago. Could this be her chance to bury that unhappy child for good? To prove that if she was smart and sensible, kept a clear head and made the right choices not every relationship had to end with a broken heart?

‘Define distraction?’ she asked, her voice surprisingly steady considering every one of her pulse points was now throbbing in unison.

‘Allow me to demonstrate.’

He folded her into his embrace and claimed her mouth with a short, sharp and shockingly erotic kiss. The blissful ache from last night pounded back to life with staggering speed.

When he released her, they were both breathing heavily.

‘Does that answer your question?’

She touched her lips, stunned by the force of his hunger and the heat of her own response. She had the answer she needed. This was all about sexual chemistry. Nothing more. They weren’t talking about happy ever after here, they were talking about fulfilling a basic human need. A need that, she had discovered last night, Mac was the perfect man to fulfil. But could she keep sight of that and make sure her emotions didn’t get involved?

‘Last night was only a taster,’ he said, his voice husky, his eyes smouldering with erotic promise. ‘We’ve some more memorable nights in our future. Fourteen, to be exact.’

She sucked in a breath. But it wasn’t his arrogance that startled her. She’d detected the slightest edge to his voice at the reference to ‘memorable nights’. All of a sudden she understood why he’d come after her, instead of the millions of other women he could have chosen as his distraction. The realisation gave her confidence an important boost.

So far Mac had had everything his own way. He’d called all the shots and she’d let him, because she’d been completely blindsided by the passion between them. And that had left her entirely at his mercy.

She needed to have some control over this relationship if she was going to be sure to keep her heart out of the equation. Which meant showing Mac she wasn’t a complete pushover.

‘This is about the note,’ she said as clearly as she could manage while still hyperventilating. ‘That’s why you’re here. It annoyed you.’

How the hell had she figured that out?

While it was far from the only reason, Mac didn’t appreciate being read so easily, especially as he’d rehearsed how he would play things all the way from the airport.

Relaxed and charming had been the game plan. He wanted her to know how good the sex would be. He wanted her to know he was doing her a favour. He didn’t want her to know how eager he was for her to come to LA—or how much her damn note had rattled him. It would make him look like an idiot.

And the plan had been working well enough, till a moment ago.

Mac forced an indulgent chuckle and lifted a mocking eyebrow. ‘Not a bit of it,’ he replied, his tone deliberately light. ‘It was a nice enough note. Just a bit previous as it turns out.’

Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head. ‘I don’t believe you. It ticked you off. I can tell.’

How the hell could she tell?

He knew how good an actor he was and he’d given that last statement just the right measure of nonchalance to make it convincing.

‘It did not,’ he snapped, not even convincing himself now.

‘I’ve become some sort of challenge,’ she continued, still studying him as if she could see right through him. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? I’m the one that got away?’

He didn’t know whether to be impressed or even more aggravated. No woman had ever seen through him so effortlessly or so precisely before. Given the many ways she’d already mucked up his karma over the past fortnight, though, he settled for aggravated.

He took her arm. ‘I’ve told you already, I don’t play games.’ Or only games he knew he could win and he was fairly sure he wasn’t winning this one. ‘It’s decision time. Are you coming to LA or not?’

Her brow puckered at the ultimatum and he realised his mistake. He let go of her arm.

What the hell had happened to relaxed and charming? He sounded like an ass. Which wasn’t like him at all. He never lost his cool with women, especially when he wanted them as much as he wanted her.

He was on the verge of revising the ultimatum, when she surprised him.

‘Actually, I’d like to come.’ Her lips lifted in a captivating smile. ‘But I’ve got a few conditions before I can agree to go.’

He tucked his hands into his pockets. ‘And what would they be, now?’ he said warily. What had become of the tentative girl he’d initiated last night? he’d like to know.

‘First of all, we must both agree this is only for two weeks,’ she said. ‘Once those two weeks are up we go our separate ways.’

He gave a brief nod, not sure why he wasn’t more relieved. He’d planned to say the same thing himself, hadn’t he? But it still felt strange to have her take the initiative.

‘I don’t want this interfering with your relationship with Connor and Daisy and Ronan.’

‘It won’t be a problem,’ he said, admiring her loyalty to her friends. She looked so earnest, he decided it wouldn’t go in his favour if he pointed out why it wouldn’t be a problem. That he had no relationship with Connor and his family and he didn’t intend to have one.

She huffed out a careful breath, little pink spots mottling her cheeks. ‘This is a bit…’ she paused, clasping her hands together ‘…personal. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I was tested six years ago and…’ She paused. ‘Well, there hasn’t been anyone since. How about you?’

It took him a moment to register what she was asking him. His admiration increased. It was a necessary question in this day and age—especially if she’d ever read any of the rubbish written about his private life in the press. So why could he feel himself flushing?

‘I had a test a few years back, for insurance purposes. Plus I always use a condom. And I don’t do drugs. Will that do?’

‘Okay, that’s good,’ she said, unclasping her hands and looking so relieved he had the sudden urge to give her a cuddle. She wasn’t nearly as tough and savvy as she was pretending to be.

‘Anything else?’ he asked, running a knuckle down her cheek and feeling better by the second.

The next two weeks were going to be quite an adventure. An adventure without any of the usual risks.

Sure her forthright approach and her perceptiveness might have unnerved him a little, but he was starting to see the benefits. The woman had no angles, no hidden agenda, not that he could see. The thought was so refreshing, it was intoxicating.

That he had no idea what she was thinking, or what she was going to do next, was probably a small price to pay. And anyway, he’d have her all figured out after two weeks. He was an expert at reading people, at studying them, and getting the information out of them he wanted.

Once he knew all her secrets, she wouldn’t fascinate him the way she did now.

The nervous smile she sent him intoxicated him even more.

‘I’d also like to buy my own plane ticket home.’

Now that was plain stupid. He wasn’t agreeing to that one. ‘Why would you want to do that?’ he asked, exasperated. ‘It’ll cost a fortune.’

The papers said she lived in a one-room apartment, and he had no idea how much shop girls earned, but she’d be flying to and from LA in first class. He wasn’t going to let her travel in economy.

‘I’ve got some savings. And it’s important to me,’ she said, but he detected a note of uncertainty.

‘And why is it so important?’ he asked, deciding to take advantage of the little chink in her armour. It was about time he started asserting his own agenda. He was in charge here, not her, and it was probably best she knew it. ‘I’ve already bought the return ticket, so you’d be wasting your money. We both would.’

It wasn’t the truth. He’d only instructed his PA to buy Juno a ticket out to LA. Which was quite an oversight now he thought about it. When was the last time he’d dated a woman without already having an exit strategy firmly in place?

It occurred to him at that precise moment she would also be the first woman he’d invited to his home. The house in Laguna Beach was his sanctuary and he hadn’t even let Gina stay there overnight, always insisting they sleep at her pad in the Hollywood Hills. He gave a mental shrug. It wasn’t significant. Hadn’t they just established this was strictly a two-week deal?

‘Well, I suppose if you’ve already paid for the ticket.’ She chewed on her bottom lip, still considering. ‘I guess that would be okay. I just wanted to make sure I had a ticket home.’

‘It’s all sorted,’ he said shortly, not sure why her persistence was beginning to irritate him. ‘Now if you’ve finished with the demands could you go get packed?’ He steered her towards the study door. ‘We’ve a plane to catch.’

And the sooner he got her on it, the happier he’d be.

Excitement, exhilaration and extreme terror all fought for supremacy as Juno rushed down the hallway to tell Daisy her news.

Her mind whirred as she concentrated on the details. She had to arrange cover for her position at the shop, then Daisy would have to help her pack. Daisy could help her select what to wear, so she didn’t look like some preposterous tomboy waif when she arrived in LA.

She was taking a huge chance, but it felt right. Because she’d been careful and cautious. She’d staked out her territory and knew exactly how much she was risking. And how much she wasn’t. Mac Brody was irresistible, a wicked temptation no woman should ever have to say no to. But if she was practical, if she kept focused, and if she didn’t let him walk all over her she knew she could handle this.

The good news was, she was going into this with her eyes wide open. With no delusions and no foolish, impossible dreams waiting to be fulfilled. She had her ticket home and two weeks from now she’d return to her real life with a new sense of purpose and a new sense of herself as a woman. She was curious about Mac and she was excited by the prospect of getting to know him better, but that didn’t mean she was going to start fooling herself into thinking he was the man of her dreams. Intimacy didn’t have to be a threat, as long as you didn’t let it overwhelm your common sense.

She grinned as she thought about the way she’d caught him out over the note. She’d never felt confident enough to flirt with a man before, but she’d almost been flirting with him.

Who knew it could be so empowering and so exciting? He certainly didn’t think she was a pushover any more.

The grin faded as she recalled the weight of his palm on the small of her back as he’d propelled her out of the room. And the way her heart had lurched into her throat when he’d demanded to know if she was coming with him to LA or not.

The bad news was, she had the strangest sensation she’d just grabbed a tiger by the tail.

Chapter Ten

JUNO’S keep-things-real plan began to unravel on the first-class flight over the Atlantic.

Luckily she wasn’t a complete stranger to luxury travel, having flown down to the wedding in Connor’s private jet, so she nobly resisted the urge to squeal when she saw the wide leather seat that folded down into a bed. And her eyes didn’t get much bigger than dinner plates when she was handed a glass of champagne straight after take-off. Having Mac’s hand settle on her thigh as the plane soared to thirty thousand feet had been more of a challenge. But she thought she’d handled herself surprisingly well, only peppering him with a thousand or so questions about Hollywood and Los Angeles and his home in Laguna Beach before she dropped into an exhausted sleep.

Unfortunately, nothing could have prepared her for the shock of opening her eyes, her mind still groggy from sleep and travel twenty hours later, and finding herself in Mac Brody’s home.

She couldn’t even remember that much about how she’d ended up in the enormous bedroom suite. After getting through the necessary ordeal of customs and passport control, she’d fallen straight back to sleep on the helicopter flight from LAX down to Laguna Beach. She vaguely recalled opening tired eyes during the journey and being wowed by the sight of the sun peeking over the Southern Californian coastline, then inhaling Mac’s tantalising scent and feeling his muscles bunching beneath her cheek as he’d carried her into the house, but that was about it.

She propped herself up on the huge fluffy pillows and stared out of the wall of glass at the far end of the room.

‘Good God.’

The whispered exclamation rang out above the sibilant purr of the air-conditioning.

Even spending time in Connor and Daisy’s magnificent home in Portobello had not prepared her for living in the lap of this sort of luxury. A wide bleached-stone terrace gave way to the brilliant blue of an infinity pool, its lush lagoonlike feel accentuated by a thicket of yucca palms and exotic potted plants.

Throwing off the coverlet, she scrambled across the thick woollen carpet to get a better look at the eye-popping view.

The house sat perched on a low cliff, the rugged, sundrenched coastline stretching away round the promontory to afford complete privacy. She placed her palms on the glass and gawped at what she could see of the metal and glass frontage of the house. Stretching onto her tiptoes, she spied the empty cove below the house accessed by a set of stone steps carved into the rocks. Lazy surf pounded onto sand so white it made her squint.

Her breath backed up in her lungs. Kubla Khan eat your heart out. Mac Brody’s pleasure dome beat Xanadu hands down.

Then she caught sight of her reflection in the glass. Dressed in a vest-top and a pair of simple white panties, she looked like a scrawny schoolgirl cast adrift in a sea of splendour. The ever-present blush heated her cheeks.

What was she doing here? She couldn’t have looked more out of place if she tried!

She took a deep breath. Eased it out slowly.

Calm down.

Staying here for two whole weeks was going to be the biggest adventure of her life. And if she was going to enjoy every second, she simply did not have time for a nervous breakdown.

She glanced back at the bed. Only her side had been slept in. She wondered where Mac had spent the night. She dismissed her disappointment. He’d probably been as exhausted as her. The few times she’d woken up during the flight he’d been busy working on his laptop, so he was no doubt catching up on his sleep. Or maybe he’d gone to work. Even with two weeks before his next project started, he might still have meetings and photo shoots and interviews and stuff like that to do. She doubted movie stars ever had very much free time and she didn’t intend to be some annoying little limpet constantly begging for his attention. Come to think of it, she probably wouldn’t see all that much of him. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, considering how short of breath she got every time she got near him.

She spotted her suitcase by the door. Inside were the array of brightly coloured outfits Daisy and she had ummed and aahed over the day before. She lifted out a lipstick-red retro dress that she wouldn’t have dreamt of wearing a month ago—and felt the jangle of nerves retreat a little. Once she looked the part, she’d go and explore the house—if she kept occupied, she wouldn’t have too much time to think about how far out of her depth she was.

An hour later, Juno had showered in an en suite bathroom bigger than her whole bedsit. Discovered four other bedrooms, a staggering six other bathrooms, a curved living room with a plasma TV the size of a small cinema screen, a fully equipped gym, a study with what looked like top-of-the-range computer equipment and a library packed full of dog-eared paperbacks, dry literary tomes and enough DVDs to outsource her local Blockbuster.

Exploring Mac’s house hadn’t quite had the palliative effect she’d been hoping for.

The one thing she hadn’t found, though, was any sign of her host. Apart from the series of framed posters in the lobby depicting films of his she’d never seen and the remnants of a hastily eaten breakfast in the kitchen.

She pressed her palms to the waistline of the expertly tailored red dress and stared at the empty bowl. Feeling a lot like Dorothy after she’d landed in Oz.

The gleaming stainless-steel cabinets, inlaid countertops and wardrobe-sized fridge ensured this room was as starkly modern, spotlessly clean and impeccably designed as the rest of the house. She sighed. It was certainly a far cry from the cramped galley kitchen in the bedsit co-op, which she shared with Jacie and her son, Cal, Mr Robertson the seventy-year-old Rastafarian on the top floor and Mrs Valdermeyer and her army of cats. But oddly enough, for all its sleek lines and imposing perfection—and the refreshing absence of cat pong—Mac’s kitchen made Juno miss the constant noise and clutter of Mrs V’s.

Finding a selection of cereals in one of the cabinets, she poured herself a bowlful and sat down to eat. But as she swallowed the muesli she imagined Mac sitting at the table and eating his breakfast alone every morning and wondered how he dealt with the suffocating silence.

The wave of sympathy was quickly quashed as she tidied both their bowls away into the dishwasher. Don’t be daft, the silence was probably what attracted him to this place. Peace and quiet was no doubt a precious commodity to a man who made his living surrounded by people. And who said he ate alone here? He probably had a string of women he could invite to sleep over.

The minute the thought entered her head, a vision of all the women he’d shared breakfast with in his luxurious kitchen popped up to illustrate it. And every one of them looked a thousand times more at home here than she did.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Don’t even go there.

It was way too late to start panicking about Mac Brody’s other women. She was here now, not them, and that had to count for something.

She opened her eyes. Maybe a bit of sea air would help keep the nerves at bay.

As she ventured through the sliding glass door onto the terrace the stone tiles warmed the soles of her bare feet. The outdoor temperature had to be a good twenty degrees hotter than London. Despite the salt-scented breeze, her dress stuck to her skin moments after she’d left the air-conditioned cool of the house. She shielded her eyes against the glare from the sun, and spied a movement on the beach below.

A tall, tanned and painfully familiar figure strolled out of the surf and bent to take a T-shirt from the sand. As he rubbed it across his torso Juno’s eyes dipped to the lighter strip of flesh across his bare buttocks and the temperature shot up another twenty degrees.

Sweat dampened her armpits and her breathing stopped.

He tugged on a pair of jogging shorts and she managed a shallow breath. Picking up his sneakers, he crossed the beach in long strides, his short hair moulded to his head, the dark locks glistening in the sunshine. She wrapped her arms around her waist in a vain attempt to control the throb of arousal.

Oh, my, the man was at least as impressive as his home.

He stepped onto the terrace and his head came up, almost as if he’d scented her presence. A pair of feral blue eyes locked on her face.

He looked magnificent, the water beading on his chest and running in rivulets down the lean slopes and valleys of his abdomen. Her gaze followed the trickles that dripped from his shorts onto powerful thighs. He looked like a rampant male animal.

And he was all hers, for a little while at least.

She gulped, giddy from lack of oxygen.

‘You woke up?’ The gruff question had her eyes lifting to his face.

Had she? She was beginning to think this was all some extremely vivid and rather scary erotic dream. She nodded. ‘I helped myself to some cereal. I hope you don’t mind?’

One dark eyebrow lifted sardonically and a slow, seductive smile spread across his face. ‘Juno, you’ve my permission to help yourself to anything that takes your fancy.’

Her nipples peaked painfully and she took a jerky breath.

She might be a novice at this sort of thing, but she definitely didn’t think he was referring to his low-fat, fake-sugar, Swiss-style muesli any more. ‘Are you sure about that?’ she heard herself say.

His teeth flashed white and his eyes gleamed. ‘Absolutely.’

Her heart jumped into her throat and sweat pooled between her breasts. It was a dare, plain and simple, now all she had to do was prove she was up to the challenge.

She took a tentative step towards him, not taking her eyes from his face. Placing her fingertip against her own lips, she took a deep breath and then reached towards him.

He quivered, like a tiger ready to pounce, as her fingertip touched his pectoral muscle, but he didn’t move, giving her the sharp burst of courage she so desperately needed.

Her short, neatly trimmed fingernail trailed across his chest and traced the line of hair down his six-pack. But then she spotted the powerful erection already stretching his jogging shorts and gasped.

He swore softly and hauled her against him. ‘Enough of that, you little tease.’

His wet chest dampened the front of her dress, and she shivered despite the heat coursing through her body.

‘It’s my turn now,’ he rasped.

Before she could guess his intent, he stepped back, bent over and hoisted her onto his shoulder.

‘What are you doing?’ The scent of seawater and man engulfed her as he marched through the kitchen and down the hallway. ‘Put me down. I haven’t finished my turn yet,’ she said, wriggling like crazy as her midriff bounced on the broad shelf of his shoulder.

‘Tough,’ he said, anchoring her legs with one arm across the backs of her knees. ‘You were taking too long.’

His comical frustration had a laugh popping out of her mouth, the heady rush of arousal making her dizzy. He kicked open his bedroom door and dropped her unceremoniously onto the bed.

‘So you think that’s funny, do you?’ he snarled, caging her in as she scrambled up.

He looked so handsome and so determined, excitement gushed and pulsed under her skin.

‘Hilarious actually,’ she teased as he grabbed her ankle. Who knew flirting could be this much fun?

‘That’s it,’ he declared as he hauled her down the bed and settled over her. ‘You are so going to pay for that.’

His mouth covered hers, the kiss going straight from playful to punishing. She ran her fingers through his wet silky hair as he pinned her to the mattress.

He tore his mouth away first. ‘Let’s get naked before we explode.’

‘O-okay,’ she stammered.

He grappled with her dress, cursing as he fumbled with the zip, while she gripped the waistband of his shorts, letting instinct take over as she struggled to pull the clinging fabric down flanks knotted with muscle.

His erection sprang out, thick and long and impossibly hard. Her eyes widened and she bit into her bottom lip. Goodness, had it got bigger?

He lifted her face to his. ‘Don’t panic. I won’t hurt you.’

‘I’m not worried,’ she said, and knew she wasn’t. What she was was fascinated. ‘Can I touch it?’ she asked, feeling foolish when his eyebrows shot up.

He choked out a laugh. ‘I told you. You’ve my permission to help yourself to anything you like.’

‘I want to touch it, without you touching me.’ It was a bold request. But she knew she’d get sidetracked if she let him caress her. And she wanted to explore his beautiful body, and revel in her newfound power, without fear of interruptions.

He swore softly, then flopped back on the bed and folded his arms behind his head. ‘All right. You’ve about a minute. But be gentle now, I’m close enough to the edge already.’

She still wore her bra and panties, which made her feel even more powerful as she studied him. Everything about him was so incredibly gorgeous—and his naked body was entirely at her disposal. She followed the sprinkling of hair, which curled on the slabs of muscle defining his chest, then thinned to a line down his abdomen. Finally her gaze rested on his magnificent erection. She took her time assessing the rigid evidence of how much he wanted her. And only her.

Heat pounded at her core.

He shifted. ‘I hate to rush you,’ he murmured, his voice gruff, ‘but I’ve so little blood left in my brain I’m about to pass out.’

She giggled, the feeling of power making her light-headed. To have him at her mercy was more of a thrill than she could ever have imagined.

She touched the head of his erection. At his sharp intake of breath she glanced up to see heavy-lidded eyes watching her and waiting. Unable to hold back a moment longer, she circled him and drew her fingers down the swollen length.

He hissed and his flesh bobbed violently.

She snatched her hand back, horrified. ‘Did I hurt you?’

He chuckled, the sound tense. ‘Not in the way you mean, darlin’.’ He inclined his head. ‘But would you take off the lingerie? I’d be a lot happier if I could enjoy the view while you torture me.’

Despite the cheeky tone, it had been more demand than request. She blew out a careful breath, then got off the bed and unhooked her bra. She let it drop to the floor, then with clumsy hands slipped off her knickers. Heat spread across her chest as she stood before him. Her nipples hardened, stimulated by the air-conditioning and the fierce appreciation in his gaze.

‘You’re gorgeous,’ he said as he took her hand and coaxed her back onto the bed. He dipped his head, looped his arm round her neck as she settled beside him. She could feel the heat pumping off his body, took a staggered breath and tasted sea and sun and the musky scent of man.

He shifted to lean over her, fumbled for a moment, then lifted the telltale foil package out of a drawer in the bedside table. Holding her cheek, he kissed her long and hard, his tongue dominating, exploring and then retreating in a rhythm that robbed her of breath.

As he concentrated on sheathing himself she trailed her fingers down his chest, and cupped the heavy weight of him in her palm.

He drew away and caught her wrist. ‘I’m too close, darlin’. We’ll have to leave that lesson for another day.’

Drawing his palms down her sides, he moved down the bed, his lips capturing her nipple.

She gasped as his teeth tugged and teased the swollen peak. She writhed, sinking her hands into his hair as his mouth moved lower, his tongue circling her belly-button. The rough, torturous strokes had her breath lodging in her throat and her skin burning hot.

But then he moved lower still, his head no longer within range of her grasping fingers. Pushing her thighs gently apart, he cupped her bottom and placed his mouth on her core.

Juno jerked in shock at the intimate caress. Fire rocketed through her, her body pulsing with a need so fierce she thought she might faint. ‘I can’t think,’ she cried.

His palms rested warm on her thighs as he smiled up at her. ‘There’s no need to think,’ he said. ‘Just let go.’

His lips were on her again, branding the heated flesh. She squirmed and struggled against the exquisite torture, but he held her in place, and completely open to him, as his tongue probed and ravished. The shocking sensations sent her senses spinning as the vicious spirals coiled at her core.

‘I can’t. It’s too much. Please stop,’ she moaned.

But he didn’t stop, his tongue, his lips, his mouth, crucifying her on an altar of ecstasy as she soared over that impossible peak. Her back arched as she sobbed out her release, then collapsed shaking onto the pillows.

She still shivered moments later, shuddering with the aftershocks of the vicious climax when she opened her eyes and saw him smiling down at her, his body poised above her.

‘That was beautiful to watch, Juno.’

And unbearably arousing, Mac thought as his erection throbbed against the soft skin of her thigh.

Her face coloured a dark and vivid pink.

‘Don’t…’ He stroked a hand down her cheek as she tried to look away. ‘Don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart. You’re incredible, the way you respond. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.’

‘I know, it’s just…’ She gave a shy smile, which had his heart flip-flopping. ‘I can’t believe…I’ve never done that before.’

The amazement, the astonishment in her voice had the brutal ache in his groin twisting harder. He touched his forehead to hers, tried to slow his breathing. He wanted, desperately, to bury himself inside her, to pound away until he’d slaked himself. But, more than that, he didn’t want to hurt her. ‘Let’s wait a minute now.’

‘Why? I don’t want to wait,’ she said.

He cursed quietly, his control faltering. Why indeed?

‘All right, then.’ He gripped her hips, settled between her thighs and pressed into the slick folds. He heard her breath catch in shock at the fullness of the penetration. He could give her only a few agonising seconds to adjust before he had to move, the tight clasp of her body torturing him. Her fingers grasped the back of his neck and the last thin thread on his control broke. He thrust into her, again and again, spurred on by the pulsing grip of her orgasm.

His own vicious climax roared through him as her shocked sobs of release echoed in his ear. Totally spent, he collapsed on top of her.

‘Mac, my leg’s gone numb.’

The softly spoken plea yanked Mac back to complete consciousness.

‘Damn, sorry.’ He lifted off her, flopped on to his back and covered his eyes with his arm. Bitterly annoyed with himself.

He supposed he owed her an apology. He’d taken her like a madman.

To think he’d been up half the night, deciding on a course of action, and he’d blown it already.

All during the flight he’d been brutally aware of her sleeping beside him. He’d made himself work to keep from touching her. Not that he’d got much done, with his ears tuned to every small movement or sound she made. It was madness.

When he’d carried her to the guest bed at four in the morning, he’d been so desperate to wake her and make love to her, he’d forced himself to leave her be.

Surely he could do without her for one night? Show some restraint. She was exhausted and so was he, and, anyway, she was here for two whole weeks. What was the rush?

He’d managed to grab a few hours’ sleep in his own bed. But he’d woken up fully aroused all the same. A six-mile jog and a swim in the freezing cold Pacific Ocean—and still the need hadn’t gone away.

When he’d seen her on the terrace, that letterbox-red dress hugging her curves and her eyes alight with surprised arousal, he’d stood to attention with no effort at all. Like a boy of thirteen instead of a man in his thirties.

He’d never wanted a woman this much before in his life. It was starting to concern him.

Feeling her hesitant touch on his heated flesh had been a unique kind of torture. But still he’d managed to pull back, had been determined to pleasure her first to prove he could show at least a little of his usual finesse. But her quickfire response, the dewy taste of her arousal had driven him over the edge, and he’d taken her with an urgency that had been nothing short of brutal in the end, despite all his best intentions.

What if he’d hurt her again?

‘Are you all right?’ He forced the words out. ‘I didn’t plan to be so rough there at the end.’

She gave a long contented sigh. ‘Was that rough? It didn’t feel rough, it felt fantastic.’

He opened his eyes to find her smiling at him, her eyes bright with wonder. The trusting look made his heart stir in a way he didn’t like.

There was nothing he wanted more right now than to let himself off the hook. But what did she know about sex? About what she really wanted, or what she deserved? Next to nothing, he suspected. She was probably tender as hell at the moment. He’d taken her too fast, too hard. But she probably didn’t realise he could have made it better for her if he’d slowed down, if he’d not been so selfish.

Maybe it was about time he found out about what had happened six years ago. So he could stop torturing himself over it? He didn’t want it hanging over him. Making him feel responsible for something he’d had no part of.

‘What made you wait so long, Juno?’

Chapter Eleven

‘EXCUSE me?’ Juno stammered.

Mac looked so serious, so sombre, his eyes a penetrating icy blue.

‘Six years,’ he said. ‘Why did you wait so long? What happened?’

Realisation dawned. She sat up, tugging the sheet over her breasts, the warm feeling of afterglow gone. ‘I’m famished. How about I make us a proper breakfast?’

She scooted over to the edge of the bed, intending to make a bolt for the bathroom, but he grabbed hold of the sheet she was using to cover herself, halting her escape in mid-scoot.

‘I want to know what happened. Why won’t you tell me?’

Was he serious? She turned to see the determination in the harsh line of his jaw. Her stomach sank. Apparently he was. ‘Why do you want to know?’

He let out a slow breath. ‘It’s been bugging me. I can’t seem to get it out of my head.’

‘But it was years ago.’ She didn’t want to talk about her past. Not now she was finally breaking free of it.

He let go of the sheet, moved closer to brush the hair back from her brow. ‘You waited six years. And then you chose me. I want to know why.’

‘But that’s silly, it has nothing to do with you. It doesn’t matter any more.’

‘It does to me.’

Why was he being so stubborn? So insistent? It made no sense at all. And then she understood, and her stomach plummeted to her toes. This was exactly the indignity she’d tried to avoid. ‘If you want me to leave…If I’m not exciting enough for you, all you have to do is say so.’

He swore and grabbed her round the waist as she put her feet on the floor. ‘Stop being so defensive. It’s nothing like that.’ He folded her in his arms, hugging her tight and making it impossible for her to go anywhere. ‘You’re sweet and surprising and sexy as hell and I like spending time with you. Especially in bed.’

Juno felt warmth spread through her at his easy compliments and wanted to kick herself. How pathetic that she should be so grateful for any scrap he was willing to throw her way.

‘So why do you care about my past?’ It hadn’t been part of their deal. She’d persuaded herself she could handle the intimacy, but this felt like more than she’d bargained for.

His chest rose against her back in a heavy sigh. ‘Maybe I’m simply curious, or maybe it’s because I’m an actor and knowing people, understanding their emotions, figuring out what makes them tick is part of my job.’

She tried to shrug off his arms, but the hug only tightened.

Her temper spiked. ‘I’m not talking about my past just because it’s your job to be a nosy parker.’

He chuckled, making her temper spike some more.

‘How about I ask you another question, then?’ he said, his lips teasing her ear lobe. ‘If what happened to you six years ago doesn’t matter any more, why won’t you tell me about it?’

She stopped struggling, her temper deserting her when she needed it most.

Why couldn’t she tell him about it?

‘The fact that you’re so damn secretive makes it seem like it does matter,’ he continued, the teasing note gone from his voice. ‘And that’s what’s bugging me.’

She didn’t know what to say to him. It didn’t matter, but she still didn’t want to tell him about it. And the reason why was simple. She was deeply ashamed of what had happened six years ago. Of how naÏve and immature she’d been. And she didn’t want Mac to judge her.

Which was ludicrous. This was just a casual fling. Two weeks from now she’d leave his home and probably never see him again. Why should she care what Mac Brody thought of her?

Her heart thumped hard against her chest. Blast. She’d have to tell him about Tony. Because if she didn’t she’d be admitting to herself, not only that Tony still had the power to hurt her, but that Mac could too.

‘I need a shower first,’ she said grudgingly. She felt exposed enough already; she wasn’t talking about this naked.

He gave her a final squeeze, then let her go. ‘Go right ahead,’ he said, sounding suspiciously pleased with himself. ‘How about I rustle us up that proper breakfast you mentioned? I’ve worked up a bit of an appetite myself.’

‘All right,’ she said grudgingly, her own appetite as good as gone.

Following the smell of frying bacon, Juno stopped in the kitchen doorway and held back a sigh. Mac stood in front of the stove, dressed only in a pair of worn jeans, his T-shirt draped over a chair. He looked like a female fantasy come to life as he transferred bacon onto plates already piled high with eggs and toasted muffins.

Goodness, was it any wonder he’d manipulated her so easily? Just remembering what he’d done to her this morning had made her feel shaky in the shower. The man had the ability to make any woman lose her grip on reality. Once she’d got this humiliating ordeal out of the way she’d make sure she was more careful next time. Pheromones were dangerous things, and Mac had a devastating effect on hers.

He glanced over his shoulder. ‘You want to grab some cutlery? It’s in the top drawer.’

‘Okay,’ she said, her mouth going dry. She never would have expected him to cook for her. No man had ever cooked for her before. She pulled the cutlery out of the drawer and pretended not to notice the rapid ticks of her heartbeat. Maybe he’d forgotten what they’d agreed to talk about. The more she’d thought about it, the more it seemed odd that he would even want to know about the girl she’d been. Let alone be interested in discussing it.

He slid the plates onto the table and nodded at one of the chairs. ‘Take a seat. We should eat it before it gets cold.’

‘I’m impressed,’ she remarked, her mouth watering at the lavish breakfast he’d cooked. She sat down and picked up her fork. ‘This looks delicious.’

If he wasn’t going to mention it, she certainly didn’t plan to.

He held up the coffee pot. ‘You want a cup?’

‘Yes, please,’ she said, starting to relax. The salty aroma of the bacon made her stomach growl as she took a bite. ‘This beats muesli any day.’

By the time she’d polished off the meal she was feeling almost mellow, sure that he’d forgotten about their agreement in the bedroom.

Seeing he was already finished and nursing another cup of coffee, she picked up his plate. ‘How about I wash up?’

‘No need,’ he said, stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankle. ‘I have a cleaning service. They’ll get to it this afternoon.’

‘Oh, okay.’ She put the plates into the sink.

‘What happened to the dress?’ he asked.

She looked down at the T-shirt and jeans she’d changed into after her shower. ‘I thought I’d go for a walk on the beach after breakfast. This outfit seemed more practical.’ And a lot less revealing. After her second shower of the day she’d been feeling considerably less bold.

‘That’s a shame—the dress was something else.’

She rubbed her hands on the worn denim. Not sure what to make of the little peak in her heartbeat at the casual compliment. She really needed to get hold of her ridiculous reaction every time he said something nice to her.

She tugged on the hem of her T-shirt. ‘I think I’ll go for that walk now.’ The kitchen suddenly felt suffocating.

He smiled, placing his coffee cup on the table as he stood. ‘Good idea. We can walk round the point during low tide to the public beach.’ He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. ‘They have the best ice-cream stand in LA there.’

She hadn’t planned on him offering to come with her. ‘I’m sure I can find it myself, if you have something you need to be doing.’

His smile widened as he pulled his T-shirt on over his head. Her eyes were drawn to the play of muscles as his abdomen disappeared behind white cotton.

‘As it happens, I don’t have a thing I need to be doing right now,’ he said.

He slipped his hand into hers as they took the terrace steps to the beach. Squeezed.

‘So what was his name?’

Drat, he hadn’t forgotten a thing.

She tensed and tried to pull her hand out of his. Mac hung on.

He’d seen how wary she was when she’d walked into the kitchen, and had considered for a moment letting it drop. But as he watched her eat the breakfast he’d cooked for her he knew he shouldn’t. Figuring her out was the first step to getting her out of his head for good. As long as she still had secrets, she’d continue to fascinate him.

Once he knew why she’d picked him, and picked now, he wouldn’t feel responsible any more. He was counting on it. There’d be no more guilt trips. And anyway, he’d always been deeply curious about people, other people; it was part of what made him good at what he did.

‘Are you really sure you want to hear this?’

He heard the plea in her voice and forced himself to ignore it. ‘Tell it like a story. It’ll be easier. That’s what my shrink says.’

Her eyes went round in her face. ‘You have a psychiatrist?’

‘Everyone in Hollywood has a shrink. They’re like a fashion accessory.’ He’d only been the once, and he hadn’t told the guy a thing—it had reminded him too much of being in the confessional as a lad—but she didn’t need to know that. If he wanted her to open up, it made sense to put her at her ease. ‘And confession’s good for the soul. Remember that.’

She slanted him a sideways look. ‘You don’t really believe that, do you?’

Not for a minute.

‘Of course I do. I was born a Catholic.’ He swung her hand in his and grinned. ‘Now tell Uncle Mac everything. It’ll make you feel better, I guarantee it.’

She huffed out a laugh, and he knew he had her. ‘Oh, all right, then, but I still don’t understand why you want to know.’ She took a deep breath, shielding her eyes against the sun. ‘His name was Tony. I was just sixteen when I met him.’

‘How old was he?’ He hated the bastard already.

‘Older.’

Figured. ‘How much older?’

She dropped her hand from her brow. ‘I don’t know. I never asked him.’

‘So how did you meet him?’

‘Me and my best mate Candice wanted to see this movie. But it was an eighteen certificate.’

‘One of mine, I hope,’ he said, trying to keep things light. A shadow had crossed her face.

She sent him a wistful smile. ‘No, it wasn’t. I’ve never seen any of your movies.’

He stopped dead in the sand, stunned. ‘You’ve not seen one of my movies? Seriously?’

When her smile widened, he realised how conceited he must sound.

‘Yes, seriously,’ she said. ‘I’m not a big movie-goer.’

‘Well, damn, we may have to remedy that,’ he said, although he wasn’t at all sure he wanted to. There was something refreshing about dating a woman who knew nothing of his public image. Feeling oddly humbled, he took her hand again and walked on. ‘So go on now. His name was Tony and he was an old man.’

She laughed again. ‘I never said he was an old man. He was just…older. Anyway. Candice and I wanted to get into the movie, so we got all dolled up.’ She stifled a small smile. ‘Which meant tons of make-up, fishnet tights, short skirts. I don’t know what it is about being sixteen and wanting to look eighteen, but you automatically assume you should dress like a prostitute.’

He couldn’t imagine her with tons of make-up on. She’d had a little on at the wedding, but she had none on today, and she didn’t need it. The colour of her eyes, so striking against her pale skin, her high cheekbones and those plump kissable lips. It would be a crime to plaster loads of paint on such a fresh, beautiful face. She swiped her hair behind her ear in a natural, unaffected gesture, the sunlight catching the gold in her hair. Did she have any notion at all how gorgeous she was?

He gripped her hand harder. ‘Go on.’

‘Tony was there with a couple of his mates. They were all city-boy types, you know, designer suits, high spirits, full of themselves.’

He could imagine. The bastards had seen two young girls and found a way to take advantage of them. The world was full of users, and the worst were often the best dressed.

‘They offered to take us into the movie. Candice and I were really flattered. We thought we must look very sophisticated, to attract grown men. Tony bought me popcorn and Coke and put his arm round me. By the time the film was over I hadn’t seen any of it. And I was already halfway in love with him.’

She gave a self-deprecating laugh, but it sounded unbearably sad to him.

‘I gave him my phone number, because he asked. And over the next few weeks I fell for him hook, line and sinker. He took me to dinner at a swanky restaurant in Mayfair. We went for walks in the park. He bought me champagne, and flowers, and we chatted about everything. He seemed interested in what I had to say and I was pathetically pleased with all the attention. So when he asked if I wanted to go back to his place in the Barbican one Saturday, I said yes.’

Mac’s gut tightened; he didn’t want to hear the rest of this. But he had to know now. He’d happily kill the bastard, just out of principle. But he had a sick feeling in his stomach that he hadn’t heard the worst of it.

‘When we got to his place, he said all this stuff about how much he wanted me, how incredible I was, how he’d never met anyone like me before. And then, he…’ She turned to look at him and for a second he could see the anguish in her eyes before she banked it. ‘I was a virgin and it hurt. A lot. He wasn’t anywhere near as gentle as you were—and he was annoyed with me for making such a fuss. He told me to come back when I’d grown up. And that’s why I didn’t want to do it again. For quite a long time.’ She said it matter-of-factly, as if it had happened to someone else.

She shrugged and looked away, the movement so defeated, his stomach ached.

‘So now you know what a silly, naÏve fool I was.’

‘Don’t say that.’ The words were tight, laced with anger.

Juno turned, stunned to see the barely leashed fury in his face. ‘What’s the matter?’

He tugged her towards him, rested his hands on her waist. ‘Don’t say that. Don’t even think it.’ His eyes searched her face, the deep blue turbulent with emotion. ‘You were a child. He knew that and he exploited it.’ He held her head, rubbing his thumb across her temple in one slow, gentle stroke. ‘Don’t ever think it was your fault.’

She shouldn’t want his sympathy. His support. His opinion didn’t matter. But his words, so forceful, so full of fury on her behalf, made the knot of shame lodged inside her for so long release. And the brutalised child she’d once been was so grateful, the tears clogged her throat.

‘Come here,’ he murmured as he laid her head against his chest. His open palm caressed her hair, rubbed her back. ‘Don’t cry, darlin’. He doesn’t deserve a single one of your tears.’

They stood together for a long time as she held on to him, breathing in the comforting scent of clean cotton and sea air and listening to the soft rhythmic crash of the surf on the shore and the sure, solid beat of his heart.

She had the sudden urge to tell him the rest, to tell him all of it. The real horror of what had happened six years ago. But she clenched her teeth and stifled the childish urge to confide more. She’d told him too much already.

Just because he hadn’t judged her. Just because he’d been sweet and sympathetic and surprisingly supportive. Just because he was a kinder man than she’d ever thought possible, didn’t mean he could ever be the man for her. This didn’t change a thing between them.

He lifted her chin. ‘You okay now?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Good.’ He took her hand in his and squeezed hard. ‘So how does a chocolate sundae with hot fudge sauce sound?’

‘Wonderful,’ she said as she squeezed back and willed herself not to care that he’d changed the subject.

But however hard she tried, she couldn’t forget how good it had felt to have him hold her when she’d needed it most.

Great going, pal. You just shot yourself in the foot.

Sure, he didn’t feel responsible any more, or guilty, or fascinated. After what she’d told him. After the way she’d stood so bravely in his arms, stifling her tears, what he felt was involved. And it bothered him. A lot.

As they rounded the rocks and set out across the public beach towards his favourite ice-cream stand Mac tried to concentrate on chocolate sundaes and hot fudge sauce and licking them off Juno’s naked breasts.

He refused to dwell on all the conflicting emotions currently churning in his gut and making his heart lurch into his throat.

He only had one thing to offer her. And that was two weeks of no-strings sex.

So there’d be no more heart-to-hearts, no more delving into her past, no more trying to figure out her psyche. That had been a dumb idea.

From now on he’d be keeping a choke-hold on his curiosity and keeping things strictly sexual—with chocolate sauce on top.

Chapter Twelve

JUNO’S hormones did their usual happy dance as she slipped her sunglasses off her nose and watched Mac stroll across the pool terrace. Returning from his regular morning jog, he looked damp and delicious, his T-shirt and shorts moulded to that mouth-watering physique like a second skin.

Juno swallowed down the boulder of lust lodged in her throat as he walked towards her. After eight days as Mac’s house guest, she’d begun to crave that tanned, muscular body and the amazing things it could do to her with an intensity she wasn’t sure was entirely healthy.

The last week had been an exhilarating voyage of sexual discovery. Mac wasn’t just a skilled lover. He was a master. And she’d been an eager student, lapping up every new experience like a woman who had been dying of thirst.

But he hadn’t just proved to be an excellent host in the bedroom. Instead of disappearing for most of the day to do whatever movie stars did, he’d hardly left her side. They’d lounged by the pool, checked out the local art galleries, had quiet meals on the terrace and frolicked in the sea like a couple of kids—nearly drowning each other the day before when he decided to teach her how to surf—as well as making love every chance they got.

That moment of connection on the beach their first day had never been repeated, and she knew she should be grateful for that. Keeping things simple and living every moment to the hilt made sense. She couldn’t afford to get involved any more than he could.

Mac lived in a fantasy world, in which beautiful people did beautiful things in impossibly beautiful places. She didn’t; she lived in the real world. And once this fabulous voyage came to its inevitable conclusion, she wanted to be able to go back to it without a single regret. She could only do that if she didn’t complicate things—or start wishing for things she couldn’t possibly have. But it was proving harder and harder as each day passed to keep everything in perspective.

He picked up her glass of lemonade from the arm of her sun lounger. ‘So what’s Miss Juno been up to?’

‘I’ve been chatting to Daisy,’ she said, trying not to obsess over the way his Adam’s apple glistened in the sun as he took a thirsty swallow of the icy drink. ‘Ronan’s cutting his first tooth and she and Connor were up half the night with him.’

He paused before putting the glass down with a click.

‘That’s tough.’ He braced his hands on the sun-lounger, leant over and kissed her, leaving the bittersweet taste of lemonade and longing on her lips. ‘You want to join me in the shower?’

He’d avoided the subject, as he always did whenever she mentioned Connor and his family. She tried not to let it upset her. ‘I’ve already had a shower.’

‘So have another,’ he said, a wicked gleam in his eyes. ‘I’ll scrub your back.’

More than sunlight warmed her cheeks as she recalled how inventive he’d been yesterday morning when she’d taken him up on a similar offer.

‘I better not,’ she said with considerable reluctance while her hormones did the hula. ‘Daisy’s ringing me back in a minute. I wouldn’t want to get sidetracked.’

‘Oh, wouldn’t you, now?’ he murmured. His teeth nipped her bottom lip. ‘That’s a crying shame. Because I’m definitely in the mood…’ he paused deliberately ‘…to get sidetracked.’

‘You’re always in the mood,’ she replied saucily as she gave him a playful shove and acknowledged the delicious spark that always accompanied their banter.

Mac hadn’t just opened up a whole new world of sexual discovery for her in the past week. He’d also shown her how to flirt. Teasing and tantalising her until she couldn’t resist doing it back. And like his lovemaking, the more she flirted with him, the more addictive it became.

He tapped his finger on her nose. ‘Only where you’re concerned, darlin’,’ he said as he straightened. The endearment had a familiar band tightening across her chest.

She chewed on her bottom lip. She still hadn’t quite cured her bad habit of taking his casual compliments to heart. The man was a born charmer and she mustn’t forget that.

‘How would you feel about doing a read-through on a script with me in a bit?’ he asked, stretching his neck from side to side. ‘I need to start taking character notes before we go into rehearsal next week and, as you’re the main reason I haven’t, I figure you owe me.’

She shot upright on the lounger, excited at the prospect. He’d talked about his work last night over their meal when she’d badgered him about it, but when she’d asked if they could watch one of his movies together, he’d refused—giving the strange excuse that seeing himself on screen made him self-conscious. She’d tried not to take the obvious lie to heart.

‘You want me to read a script with you? I’d love to.’

‘Don’t get too excited,’ he said, an indulgent smile curving his lips. ‘You’ll probably be bored to death after about ten minutes.’

‘No, I won’t,’ she replied and she knew she wouldn’t be. From the little he’d said last night she knew he was passionate about his work. Watching him start to create his next character would be fascinating.

‘All right, then,’ he said. ‘But don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

She clasped her arms round her bare legs and watched him walk away. The loud ringing of the phone on the poolside table interrupted her perusal of his very nice butt in the damp jogging shorts.

Mac stopped by the phone, reached to pick it up, then paused and pulled his hand back. He looked over his shoulder. ‘You want to grab that?’ he asked. ‘If it’s for me, tell them I’ll ring them back.’

She leapt up as he strolled into the house. ‘Mac, wait.’

He paused at the doorway, raised an eyebrow.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, the insistent ringing shattering the mid-morning silence—as well as her peace of mind.

It would be Daisy on the line, which was why Mac hadn’t taken the call. She was sure of it.

‘Would you wait a minute?’ she said. ‘I need to talk to you about something. It’s important.’

He leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms over his chest, looking mildly amused. ‘As always, you have my undivided attention,’ he said, his voice rough with innuendo.

Scooping up the handset, Juno interrupted Daisy’s greeting. ‘Could I call you tomorrow, Daze? Mac and I are in the middle of breakfast.’ She quashed the twinge of guilt at the white lie as her friend said her goodbyes.

Placing the handset back in its cradle, she blew out a careful breath. She was overstepping the mark, she knew that, but she couldn’t pretend any more that Mac’s attitude to Daisy and Connor wasn’t a problem.

Why had he behaved the way he had towards them at the wedding? Why was he so determined to have absolutely nothing to do with them even now? And why couldn’t he see how much he was missing?

Okay, so their fling was only temporary, and she knew she had to tread carefully, but he’d asked about her past—so, surely, she was entitled to be curious about his. And didn’t she at least owe it to her friends to try and get Mac to stop rejecting them?

Mac gave a half-laugh. ‘So what was so urgent?’ he said. ‘After the way you lied to your friend, I’m hopeful it has something to do with showers and getting naked.’

He sounded so confident, so self-assured, but could that really be the case? When he wouldn’t even pick up the phone to Daisy?

‘Daisy’s not only my friend,’ she said. ‘She’s also your sister-in-law.’

He tensed. ‘I know that.’

‘Do you?’

He straightened away from the doorframe. ‘Where are you going with this? Because you’ve lost me.’

She dragged in a deep breath, squared her shoulders. ‘Why won’t you talk about them?’

He laughed, the sound hollow. ‘I haven’t a problem talking about them.’

She clasped her hands together. When Daisy had told her he and Connor had had a tough childhood, she’d been careful not to ask about it, because it had been none of her business then.

But it felt like her business now.

‘I know you and Connor were separated as children,’ she ventured.

His brow furrowed.

‘And that you spent years in foster care as a result.’ She soldiered on, finding it impossible to gauge his reaction. He’d looked surprised for a moment and then his face had gone carefully blank. ‘But I don’t understand why that would make you treat Connor so harshly. Why it would make you behave as if you don’t have a brother when you do.’

I can’t talk about this.

The panic burned a hole in Mac’s gut but he kept the turmoil of emotions off his face. ‘You don’t have to understand.’

Her big soulful eyes widened at the obvious dismissal. He ignored the stab of guilt. But as he turned to go she rushed forward and placed her hand on his arm.

‘Mac, don’t. Please don’t just walk away.’

He glanced at her fingers. Seemed she wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. ‘What is it you want?’ he asked. But he had a bad feeling he already knew.

‘The way you’re treating Daisy and Connor. It isn’t like you. You’re not cold or unfeeling. I know you’re not. I just want to know why.’

The complete faith in her voice made the burning sensation worse. He should have seen this coming.

Ever since she’d told him about her past, ever since he’d known about that bastard who’d as good as raped her, he’d felt the debt between them but he’d ignored it to get what he wanted. Watching her blossom in his arms, watching her lose her inhibitions had been irresistible.

So he’d rescheduled meetings, skipped interviews, turned off his cell phone and ignored the pile of scripts on his desk he was supposed to be reading to gorge himself on her.

And now here was the reckoning. She was calling in the debt, expecting him to bare his soul in return.

‘You don’t know me, Juno. You just think you do.’

‘What are you trying to say? That you’re somehow a bad person? I don’t believe that.’

He shook his head. He could walk away now. He probably should. But letting her believe he was a better man than he really was wouldn’t do either of them any good.

‘You want to know why Connor and I can never be brothers? It’s because of what I came from. And what’s in me,’ he said, feeling as dirty as the sweat drying on his skin. ‘Our da was a violent alcoholic.’ As soon as he’d said the words he could see the fleshy face, the mottled skin that had struck terror into him as a child. ‘He had a particular belt he liked to use when he was really drunk. It had a nice fat buckle.’ He formed his fingers into a square. ‘About this big.’ He kept his gaze steady on hers as he lowered his hands.

She hadn’t flinched yet, but she would.

‘And every time he went after Connor with that belt, you want to know what I did?’

Juno struggled not to recoil at the bitter cynicism in his voice, or the gruesome picture he’d painted. When Daisy had said tough she hadn’t realised it had been that tough.

‘What did you do?’

‘Nothing. That’s what I did. I did nothing,’ he said, his eyes dark with memory. ‘I’d hear the sickening thud as that buckle cut right to the bone. And I’d do absolutely nothing. Because all I cared about was that it wasn’t me on the end of that thing.’

‘But what could you have done? You were only a child!’

‘There’s only three years separates us.’ Emotion thickened his accent into a deep brogue. ‘And I’ve not got a mark on me. Not one. While I’m sure Connor has plenty.’

‘What about the scar on your arm? How did you get that?’ she pointed out, her voice faltering. Why was he punishing himself like this? Surely the villain here had been his father, not a frightened little boy so traumatised by the violence he’d been too scared to fight back.

He clasped a hand over his bicep, rubbed the old wound. ‘All right, I’ll grant you. That last night wasn’t too pretty.’ He shrugged, as if what must have been a terrible injury had no significance whatsoever.

Tears pooled in her eyes, slipped over her lids.

‘Hey, don’t be doing that now.’ He caught a tear on his thumb, looking appalled. ‘I didn’t tell you so you’d feel sorry for me.’

‘But what you’ve told me is terrible.’

‘No, it’s not. Not any more. I learned to live with it a long time ago,’ he said.

Had he? She doubted that. She scrubbed away her tears. It was obvious he didn’t want her sympathy. But her heart still ached for the little boy he’d been.

He gripped her shoulders, peered into her face. ‘I don’t think I’m a bad person.’ He tucked his finger under her chin. ‘But I am selfish. I look out for number one. And I always have. That’s who I am. I’m not interested in playing happy families. With Connor or anyone else.’

He ran his thumb across her bottom lip, the blue of his irises deepening. ‘So don’t go mistaking me for someone I’m not, darlin’. Because you’ll only get hurt.’

Juno studied Mac through the glass as he walked down the hallway towards the bedroom, and realised her careful step-by-step plan had just taken a wild reckless leap into the unknown without her seeing it coming.

Mac Brody wasn’t shallow or self-centered. He wasn’t his father, and he wasn’t to blame for what his father had done to Connor. Whatever he might want to believe.

But who was he really?

And why couldn’t she shake the terrifying feeling that Mac needed her and that she needed him, despite his thinly veiled warning not to get involved?

Daisy had told her she had to start trusting her own judgement. But what if her judgment was wrong? What if Mac wasn’t the man she’d begun to believe he was, but just another foolish figment of her overactive imagination? And how much of her heart would she have to risk to find out?

Chapter Thirteen

‘THAT was my agent.’ Mac dumped his mobile next to his plate. ‘The studio is insisting I go to the premiere of Death Game tonight.’

Juno looked up from the delicious lunch of seared tuna she’d been busy pushing around her plate for the last five minutes. She put down her fork and bit back a sigh. She couldn’t really ignore the evidence any longer. Ever since yesterday, after Mac had given her that fleeting glimpse into the horrors of his childhood, he’d been restless and tense—and really rather rude.

They’d begun the script-reading yesterday afternoon and she’d been enjoying it immensely, but when she’d probed about how he created his characters he’d called a halt to it without an explanation. And when they’d made love this morning, he hadn’t held her afterwards as he usually did, but had disappeared into his office until lunch. So far he’d taken two calls while they’d been sitting out on the terrace and had hardly said a word to her.

She missed the easy camaraderie between them—and his surly behaviour wasn’t doing a great deal to get her own cartwheeling emotions under control—but she was trying not to let him get to her, because she had a pretty good idea what the problem was. He regretted what he’d told her. He knew as well as she did that it had deepened things between them and he was probably as confused about it as she was.

If only she knew a little bit more about relationships—and men—this would all be so much easier. But so far the only new thing she’d figured out about Mac was that he was a master of avoidance.

‘Is Death Game your latest movie?’ she asked carefully.

‘Yeah. I’m supposed to be promoting it, but I’ve already rescheduled a couple of interviews and the studio is pissed about it.’ He snapped the words, frustration edging his voice.

She put her fork down carefully. Why was he angry with her? ‘So it sounds like you should go to the premiere.’

‘It makes me look unprofessional if I don’t attend,’ he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Especially as I’m in LA at the minute.’

That was definitely accusation she could hear. She straightened her spine and held on to her temper. ‘If you need to go to the premiere, you should go to the premiere.’ Did he think she was going to beg him not to? ‘You don’t have to worry, Mac. I’m perfectly capable of amusing myself for an evening.’

‘You don’t get it,’ he said, still staring at her. ‘I have to take a date with me. No one attends a premiere alone. It makes you look like a loser.’

What was that supposed to mean?

Then she knew and she could feel the blood leaching out of her face. He couldn’t take her to a Hollywood premiere. It wouldn’t look right, she didn’t look right. She bit into her lip, forced herself to stay stiff in her chair.

Don’t you dare fall to pieces.

She knew she had no real claim on him, but how could he even consider dating someone else while she was still here? Had she been wrong about him? Was he really as selfish as he claimed?

‘I see,’ she said, pleased at the way her voice hardly wavered. ‘What are you expecting me to do—give you my permission?’

‘I don’t need your permission,’ he said with a callousness she didn’t understand. Why was he being deliberately cruel? ‘But don’t read too much into it. Okay?’

‘Why would I do that?’ she snapped back, temper taking over despite her best efforts.

He wasn’t going to make her feel inadequate because she didn’t fit into his Hollywood lifestyle. She had her own life—she was her own woman—and she wasn’t going to let him make her feel like less of a person because of it. She’d allowed herself to get in much deeper than she should have. But what right did he have to punish her for it?

‘So who is the lucky lady?’ she said, her voice brittle. ‘Another of your two-week conquests?’

‘What lucky lady?’ he demanded, still with that bitter edge to his voice. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘Fine, don’t tell me.’ She stood up, threw her napkin down on the table. He was not going to make her crumble. At least not until she was alone. ‘It really doesn’t matter to me one way or the other.’ She wasn’t going to let it matter.

He stood up too and grabbed hold of her arm. ‘What doesn’t matter to you?’

‘Who you take to your bloody premiere.’ The minute the shout had left her lips, she knew she’d given herself away. Big time.

It did matter. It mattered a lot. And now he knew it did too.

But instead of gloating, or trying to placate her—which would have been far worse—he simply stared. ‘Juno. It’s you who I’m taking with me,’ he said at last. ‘Why would I take someone else?’

‘Me?’ she asked, the huge rush of relief quickly followed by a wave of mortification. What was wrong with her? Why had it meant so much to her? She didn’t even want to go. Really. ‘But I can’t go,’ she said in a small voice. ‘That would be ridiculous.’

He grasped her other arm to stop her turning away. ‘And why can’t you?’ he murmured. ‘What would be ridiculous about it?’

She looked down, the blush burning her scalp. ‘It’s just…’ Why was he making her say it? ‘It wouldn’t look right. I wouldn’t look right. I’m not that sort of woman.’

He tilted his head. ‘And what sort of woman would that be, now?’

Glamorous. Sophisticated. Beautiful.

‘The sort of woman who goes to movie premieres,’ she mumbled.

‘Juno, you slay me.’ He chuckled. ‘You don’t seriously think they’re better than you?’

‘Of course not.’ Or not exactly. ‘But I’d be completely out of my element.’

‘And thank God for it,’ he said with a vehemence that made her heart stutter.

‘I don’t even have anything fancy to wear…’ she added, a little desperate now. However pleased she was that he’d asked her, did she really want to expose their relationship to any more public scrutiny?

‘We’ll go to Rodeo, then,’ he said easily. ‘Get you something fancy. I know a stylist will be able to help.’

Her heart stumbled. Why was he doing this?

He brushed his thumb across her chin. ‘The only thing those women can do better than you is show off. And believe me, even in Hollywood, showing off as a life skill is overrated.’

Tears prickled at the backs of her eyelids—and the band around her heart tightened. He shouldn’t say these things. Because it felt like more now, more than it was ever meant to be.

‘So will you come to the premiere with me?’ he asked. ‘I’d be in your debt.’

When he put it like that, what choice did she have? She nodded mutely, her heart thumping in her chest like a sledgehammer. ‘I suppose so, if you’re sure.’

‘I am.’

Mac watched Juno leave to get her shoes and bag and cursed himself for being all kinds of a fool.

He should have taken the opportunity to make up a fictitious date—and told her she couldn’t come with him to the Death Game premiere.

Ever since yesterday he’d been trying to create some distance between them. For his own good as well as hers. Because she was really starting to scare him.

The way she’d somehow got him to talk about things he’d not told another living soul. The way she’d cried for him when she’d never even cried for herself. The way she still looked at him as if he were one of the good guys, when he’d told her as plain as day that he wasn’t. The way she seemed to be able to see right through all the defences he’d constructed so carefully over time and make him need things he didn’t want to need.

He didn’t just feel involved any more, he felt…Hell, he wasn’t even sure what he felt. Which could not be good.

And yet, when his agent had reminded him about the premiere tonight, he’d known instantly he wanted her on his arm—because she would make the whole ordeal that much more bearable.

And as soon as the thought had occurred to him it had annoyed the hell out of him. And he’d taken it out on her.

But how could he have known his irritable invitation would make her jump to entirely the wrong conclusion? Once he’d seen the crushed expression on her face, he’d felt like the worst kind of heel.

He sat at the table and picked up his cell phone to dial the stylist.

Leaning back in his chair, he crossed one leg over his knee and waited for Juanita Suarez to pick up—and a picture of Juno decked out in another tempting bit of fancy such as the one she’d worn to the wedding formed in his head. Quickly followed by the picture of him peeling it off her.

His irritation dissolved in a haze of lust.

What the hell?

Why shouldn’t they have tonight? Why shouldn’t he pamper her a little? He’d given her little enough of the moviestar trimmings all his other dates took for granted. And he’d been more than a bit cranky with her since yesterday. It was the least he could do.

Tomorrow would be soon enough to worry about the strange effect she had on him. He’d waited more than a week already. What harm could one more day do?

‘Hi, Juanita, it’s Mac Brody.’ His lips quirked at Juanita’s enthusiastic greeting. ‘I’ve a date I want to take to the Death Game premiere tonight, and I want to make sure she enjoys it.’

Chapter Fourteen

MOTHERLY, efficient and expertly groomed, Juanita Suarez took Juno under her wing the minute Mac introduced them, firing enough sartorial suggestions at her to have Juno’s mind boggling.

As soon as they got to the glitzy shopping mecca of Rodeo Drive, with its rarefied collection of fashion boutiques and designer outlets, it became apparent Mac wasn’t a natural shopper—his eyes glazing over with boredom after less than five minutes.

Juno might once have thought the same of herself. Daisy had always been the design genius behind The Funky Fashionista, but since Daisy had opened the shop Juno had taken her job as manager seriously and had learned as much as she could about fashion for the benefit of the clients. But she’d never had the thrill of putting that knowledge to work for her own benefit. So once she and Juanita had cut Mac loose and the stylist got down to business, Juno found herself marvelling at the dizzying selection of haute couture garments on offer—and getting more and more excited about choosing her own perfect outfit to spend a night on the town as Mac’s date.

Maybe there was something to be said for avoidance after all. She’d been worrying about what was really going on between her and Mac since yesterday and all it had done so far was give her a headache—and kick off an argument about nothing.

When was she going to get another opportunity to dress up like a movie star and go to a Hollywood premiere with one of the sexiest men on the planet on her arm? This would be a story to tell her grandkids one day. She could always start panicking again tomorrow.

‘Oh, yes, honey. I love that one on you,’ Juanita enthused as Juno stepped out of the dressing room in a flowing off-the-shoulder gown of turquoise taffeta with a beaded bodice. ‘The colour’s perfect for your eyes. What do you think?’

Juno peered down at herself. The material felt soft and exclusive next to her skin and, while she never would have chosen the dramatic design or revealing cut for herself, she could see it made quite an impact. Goodness, she even had boobs again.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she said. ‘But how much does it cost?’ Not one of the outfits she’d tried on so far had a price tag, and it was making her a little nervous.

Juanita grinned. ‘Aren’t you precious?’ she said, the condescension sounding pleasant in her laid-back Californian accent. ‘Don’t you worry about the cost. Mac told me to go right ahead and spend whatever we wanted. And it’s always been my motto never to cross an A-lister—especially if I’ve got my hands on his plastic.’ She waved the credit card Mac had blithely handed over before making his getaway.

Juno ran her palms down the luxurious gown. ‘I don’t feel right spending too much of his money.’

Juanita looked completely nonplussed for the first time since Juno had met her. ‘Mac said you were one of a kind—and he wasn’t kidding. You’re the first one of his dates to say that to me.’

Had he really said she was one of a kind?

‘Have you met lots of his dates, then?’ The question popped out before she could stop it.

‘Quite a few,’ Juanita said as she unhooked the gown and helped Juno out of it. ‘I used to work for Gina—that’s how Mac and I met.’

‘Gina?’

‘Gina St Clair, the supermodel. She and Mac were an item a while back.’

‘Oh.’ Juno felt a sinking sensation in her stomach as she tugged her jeans back on. Why had she asked about his exgirlfriends? She’d promised herself on her first day in Mac’s house she wouldn’t worry about it. Hearing about all the stunning women he’d dated now would only knock her confidence.

Juanita laughed as she put the gown back on its hanger. ‘Sweetie, there’s no need to look so miserable. I’ll let you into a little secret. But you’ve got to give me your solemn promise you won’t tell Gina I said this.’

‘All right.’ What was Juanita going to say? And did she really need to hear it?

‘Gina fancied herself in love with him. And she hasn’t been the first, I’ll tell you. Or the last. That man has left a trail of broken hearts through Beverly Hills—and the real tragedy is he hasn’t a clue. Women look at him as if he could hang the stars and he doesn’t even notice.’

The heat hit Juno’s cheeks. Did she look at him like that too?

‘He takes them out for a couple of months and then drops them flat,’ Juanita continued.

Juno gulped down the ball of dejection threatening to gag her. Where had that come from? She knew her time with Mac was limited. At least she’d never allowed herself to get that delusional. So what exactly did she have to feel dejected about?

‘It’s all right, Juanita. I know where I stand with Mac.’

‘But, honey, you haven’t let me get to the best part. I’ve seen the women in Mac Brody’s life come and go. And he treats them all exactly the same. Charming, friendly and totally uninvolved. But you’re different.’

Of course she was different. She wasn’t a supermodel.

‘How?’ she asked, sure she didn’t want to know the answer.

‘He looks at you differently. Like he really sees you.’ Juanita winked as she tapped his platinum card to her nose. ‘And here’s the kicker. He’s never once trusted any of the others with his credit card. And there’s a saying in Hollywood that I know to be the God’s honest truth.’ She lifted her eyebrows. ‘Plastic speaks louder than words.’

Juno smiled. Juanita’s teasing lifting her mood back off the floor.

Whatever was happening between her and Mac, she liked the idea she’d made an impression on him. That he wouldn’t forget her too easily.

It seemed only fair—after all, he’d certainly made an impression on her.

Chapter Fifteen

THE tiny little butterflies that had flitted about in Juno’s belly as she’d stood before Mac in her glamorous new outfit and watched his eyes darken with desire had become eagles with ten-foot wingspans by the time their stretch limo slid to a halt in front of the art deco theatre in Westwood.

Mac had briefed her during the long winding drive down Wilshire Boulevard on what would be expected of them once they arrived. But with his hand absently rubbing her thigh through the figure-hugging taffeta, her anticipation levels at fever pitch and his long, lean frame so heart-meltingly gorgeous in the formal tuxedo, Juno had been finding it a little hard to concentrate.

In fact, as he offered her his arm and she stepped out onto the pavement she realised she hadn’t heard a single word.

‘We’ll get this over as quick as we can,’ he murmured against her ear as his hand gripped her waist and the camera flashes exploded around them.

He guided her to a wall of people waving autograph books and screaming his name, barricaded behind the main walkway.

‘Stay put. This won’t take a minute,’ he said as he let her go.

It didn’t take a minute, it took twenty before he managed to extricate himself from his fans and come back to her. And during it all Juno could see how stiff and uncomfortable he was, exactly as he had been outside the church in France.

‘Sorry about that.’ He grasped her hand and gave a curt nod to the security guards who’d been keeping her company. ‘Right, let’s go see this damn movie,’ he said, striding off down the red carpet.

But as they reached the pillared entrance to the theatre, a reporter stepped into their path and shoved a huge microphone under Mac’s nose.

‘Mac, great to see you here. Charlie Stater for Good Evening, America. So Death Game’s a new departure for you. What’s it like to play the bad guy for a change?’

Mac grasped her fingers and sent the reporter a strained smile. ‘Anson’s not the bad guy, Charlie. He’s misunderstood.’

As the impromptu interview continued and Mac talked about a movie she knew nothing about Juno became aware of the photographers flocking around them. The rapid shutter clicks and endless flashes gradually getting louder and more intrusive.

How did Mac stand it?

‘So who’s this beautiful vision you’ve brought with you tonight, Mac?’

She barely had a chance to register the reporter’s fawning question before Mac tucked their joined hands behind her back, drawing her against his side.

‘This beautiful vision is Juno,’ he said before his lips touched hers in a brief but deliberately intimate kiss.

As Mac stepped back, his eyes hot on her flushed face, the reporter’s questions, the camera noise, the distant shouts from the crowd faded away, until all she could hear was the rapid pulse of her own heartbeat, thumping in her ear.

Why did she suddenly feel as if this were the perfect time to panic?

The rest of the reception went by in a blur with Mac introducing her to a host of famous faces whom she was sure she ought to know.

The film turned out to be superb. A fast, furiously actionpacked thriller anchored by Mac’s central performance.

Juno sat in the darkened theatre and saw yet another side of Mac emerge that she hadn’t known existed. He’d immersed himself so completely in the part, the raw emotion etched on his face in the final scene so real and so vivid, he’d become a different person. This was more than talent, she thought. Much more.

After the screening Mac did a series of press interviews with her hand clasped in his. He insisted on introducing her to every reporter. And each time he did, the flicker of panic increased.

By the time they arrived at the after-show party in a Michelin-starred restaurant in Beverly Hills, it occurred to her he’d hardly let go of her all evening. Even during the screening, he’d threaded his fingers through hers and held on.

‘So what did you think?’ he asked as he whisked a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter and handed it to her.

The question sounded casual, but his eyes fixed on her face and she knew it wasn’t.

She remembered how he’d shifted and fidgeted in his seat through most of the movie. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said seeing himself on screen made him nervous. The thought was strangely endearing.

She took a fortifying sip of the champagne, not sure she could put her feelings about his performance into words. ‘I don’t know anything about movies or movie acting. But you seemed so real, like a real person. I totally believed you were capable of killing that man. You looked like you. But I forgot it was you. It was incredible.’

She coloured as the tension left his face and he grinned. Had she made a complete idiot of herself? ‘Sorry. Was that as stupid as it sounded?’

‘Not at all,’ he said, his grin getting even bigger. ‘You’ve just given me the best compliment an actor can ever have.’

‘I did?’

‘That you believed in the character.’

The pride and sense of achievement in his voice was so genuine, it touched her deeply. ‘Your work means so much to you, doesn’t it?’

‘I’ve never found a better way to pay the bills, that’s for sure,’ Mac said flippantly. She was looking at him again in that way she had that made him feel transparent. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

‘No, I mean, it’s not the celebrity or the money that matters to you. It’s all about the acting. It’s who you are.’

How did she know this stuff? Her intuition was uncanny. And unsettling. ‘Yeah, I guess you’re right. Acting saved me.’

‘How?’

He shrugged. He could tell her this. It wasn’t that big a deal—he’d talked about it before in interviews as it was good publicity fodder. ‘I made a lot of bad choices as a teenager, ended up in a juvenile detention centre when I was fifteen.’

He took a sip of champagne, and wished it were a beer. How had he got into this again? Baring his soul for no good reason.

‘They had a social worker there, suggested I try out for a theatre workshop they were doing. I did and that was it. It was like a drug. I didn’t have to be me any more. I could be anyone I wanted to be. And I loved it.’

A small frown formed on her forehead. ‘Why didn’t you want to be you?’

Now he really needed that beer. No one had ever been perceptive enough to ask him that before. ‘Because I was a little bastard. Not being me was a good thing. Believe me.’

Her frown deepened.

‘You’re such a brilliant actor, Mac,’ she said, the sincerity in her voice making his heart ricochet against his ribs.

Why did this suddenly feel like a very big deal?

‘And it’s wonderful you found something you’re so good at. But you shouldn’t confuse being in a bad place with being a bad person. It’s not the same thing.’

‘Who told you that?’

She smiled, the complete faith in the gesture doing funny things to his insides.

‘You did.’ She stretched onto tiptoes and kissed his cheek, her eyes warm with approval. ‘Acting didn’t save you, Mac. Don’t you realise, you saved yourself?’

Mac toyed with his second glass of champagne and kept his eyes peeled for Juno’s return from the powder room. Tonight had been a much bigger success than he could have hoped. He hated these affairs, but having Juno with him had made the time fly by.

And okay, he didn’t know why he’d got so worked up about what she thought of his performance. Plus he wasn’t the sentimental type. But he’d got a real kick out of what she’d said about the film and, well, everything.

She was good for him. He liked having her around. Why keep on denying it?

He gulped down a swallow of the sparkling wine, felt the bubbles tickle.

I don’t want her to leave. Not yet.

The minute he’d admitted it, the parched feeling in his throat began to ease.

Was that what had made him feel so uneasy in the last couple of days? Could it be as simple as that? That he just wasn’t ready to let her go?

But now he thought about it, it made perfect sense. And the solution was even simpler. Why did they need to put an artificial time limit on their affair?

If they took a couple of months, gave themselves enough time to tire of each other naturally and burn off all this sexual energy—the pressure would be off and the affair could run its natural course.

He finished off his glass of champagne as he studied the door to the powder room across the dining area, the relief intoxicating. He didn’t have to worry about how much he wanted her any more. About how much he was enjoying her company.

As soon as she got back he was getting them the hell out of here. They could take the copter back to Laguna and then he intended to indulge the little fantasy he’d been nursing ever since he’d first seen her in that dress.

Tomorrow morning, he’d tell her he wanted her to stick around a while longer. Given the way she responded to him, he didn’t expect it to be a hard sell.

‘Hello, Mac, darling.’

He tensed, the sultry Southern drawl souring his mood a little.

He turned. ‘Hello, Gina. You’re looking…’ Immaculate, was his first thought as his gaze drifted over the pristine make-up and the blue silk, expertly hung on her tall, angular and emaciated frame. ‘Nice,’ he finished.

Funny how Juno’s small, petite frame and artless style stirred his blood in a way Gina and his other girlfriends never had.

‘Nice?’ she said, arching one perfectly plucked eyebrow. ‘Now there’s a word to make a woman’s heart flutter.’

He could see the hurt in her eyes and even three years on felt the pulse of guilt.

‘I’m not great with words,’ he said, annoyed with himself. The woman had all but scalped him in the press. What did he have to feel guilty about? ‘Not unless they’re scripted for me.’ If she fancied an argument she’d have to look elsewhere.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said wistfully. ‘You were always very good with words as I recall. But then I always made the mistake of misinterpreting them, didn’t I?’

The pulse of guilt increased and impatience flared. ‘If there’s a reason we’re having this conversation, maybe you should get to the point?’

‘Actually there is a reason.’ She looked down at the champagne stem clutched in her hand. ‘I never apologised to you. For the problems I caused. And I’m sorry. More sorry than I can say.’

Her apology sounded sincere and left him momentarily lost for words.

‘It’s forgotten, Gina. I stopped holding it against you years ago.’

Her head came up. ‘You have no idea how ironic that is.’

‘Yeah? Why?’

‘You were the wronged party and you didn’t hold a grudge. And yet I held one against you for years.’

‘Why did you?’ he asked, his curiosity getting the best of him. He never had understood why she’d found it so hard to move on.

‘It’s fairly simple, Mac. And I believe I did tell you at the time. I was desperately in love with you. And I was angry that you refused to even try to love me back.’

He shoved a hand in his pocket, her wistful tone threatening to ruin his mood. He wasn’t taking the blame for this. Not any more.

Juno spotted the stunningly beautiful woman with Mac through the terrace doors as soon as she came out of the restroom. Gina St Clair. The supermodel Juanita had mentioned. One of his many conquests.

Who cares if she’s gorgeous? It’s you he’s with tonight.

She repeated the mantra in her head as she made her way through the restaurant’s private dining room, trying not to notice how breathtaking the pair of them looked together. Mac debonair and imposing in the dark tailored tuxedo next to Gina, a vision of style and elegance in sky-blue silk. How tall was the woman anyway? At least six feet in her heels if she could look Mac in the eye. And those boobs, what kind of hooker underwear did she have on to make them look so full and perky? It wasn’t fair.

She was so busy obsessing over Gina’s many assets she didn’t take any notice of their body language until she’d stepped out onto the terrace. She stopped dead as Mac thrust a hand into his trouser pocket and angled his body towards Gina, the animated stance suggesting an intimate conversation.

She hadn’t planned to eavesdrop. But she couldn’t deny the whisper of jealousy.

Was there still something between them?

As Mac’s voice carried to her over the tinkle of glasses and conversation she stepped behind a large oleander that sheltered her from view, and listened to every word.

‘You weren’t in love with me, Gina. You just liked the idea. We looked good together and the sex was pretty good too. But that’s all it was.’ He sounded irritated and bored.

‘I did love you. And you ended up breaking my heart.’ The supermodel’s voice quivered as if she was fighting off tears, but Mac didn’t seem to care.

‘Don’t be stupid, Gina, there’s no such thing as love,’ he replied, the flat tone reminding Juno of when he’d spoken to Connor and Daisy at the wedding—of when he’d warned her not to get involved with him. ‘Haven’t you figured that out yet? And even if there were, it’s not something I’m interested in giving—or receiving. And I believe I told you that at the time. So if your heart got broken, it was your own fault.’

He said the words without inflection, the complete lack of emotion stunning Juno.

She didn’t have to be jealous of Gina; he had no feelings for her. But had he ever had feelings for anyone?

Where was the man who had comforted her so tenderly? Who had confided in her? Who had talked with such candour about his work? And made love to her with such passion? Where was the man who she thought had needed her?

Had that man been real? Or was he just another of the roles Mac was so good at playing?

Juno didn’t hear Gina’s goodbye, the woman’s voice drowned out by the thudding in her ears of her own pulse. Panic closed around her throat as she realised two devastating truths in the space of one single heartbeat.

She’d made the same stupid mistake as Gina. She’d fallen hopelessly in love with Mac Brody.

And it would be her own stupid fault if he broke her heart too. Because she still had no idea who he really was. Or whether he was even capable of loving her back.

Chapter Sixteen

‘WHY don’t you tell me what’s going on?’ Mac shouted into the en suite bathroom. ‘Because I’m getting tired of the silent treatment.’

He flung his tuxedo jacket onto the bed, flipped out his cufflinks and waited for a reply. His optimism of less than an hour ago well and truly squashed flat.

Women!

First off, there had been Gina, waylaying him at the party, making him talk about stuff he had no desire talking about and tarnishing the happy glow from his earlier conversation with Juno.

Then Juno herself had got back from the restroom looking pale as a ghost and refusing to meet his eyes—and his mood had hit the skids completely.

He’d done his best to ignore the problem during the limo ride to the Beverly Hills heliport. Hoping that if he said nothing she’d snap out of it. He’d had enough ‘deep and meaningful’ conversations to last him a lifetime today and he wasn’t raring to have another.

But she hadn’t snapped out of it.

So he’d clamped down on his apprehension and tried twice to bring it up on the helicopter ride home. Only to have her give him the brush-off—and then shoot off to hide in the bathroom as soon as they got through the front door.

He dragged the shirt over his head, balled it up and chucked it at the laundry basket, ignoring the tightness in his chest. The white rattan pitched precariously.

‘You might as well tell me because I’m not staying out here all night.’

More silence greeted him. Had she gone deaf or something?

Damn it, he’d had plans for this evening. And they hadn’t involved showering alone.

Still no reply. He kicked off his loafers. He was fast leaving concerned and perplexed behind and working his way up to annoyed.

Dropping his trousers and dumping them in the basket, he walked into the bathroom in his boxers. And caught her frozen by the shower cubicle, naked, her eyes wide and her clothes neatly stacked on the vanity unit.

The tightness began to ease as he devoured her slim, compact frame, the curve of her bottom and the small but perfect breasts with the large rosy nipples. The blood drained from his head and pumped straight into his groin.

‘Do you mind?’ She whipped a towel off the rail like a schoolgirl, and covered up all the delicious pink flesh. ‘I’m having a shower.’

Right, that was just plain wrong.

‘Well, now, it looks like you’ve got company,’ he said, forcing a lazy grin as he padded across the tiles. Whatever had got into her, they could deal with it later.

He’d seen the way her nipples had drawn into hard points as soon as she’d spotted him.

It was way past time they got back to basics.

Juno tensed, the melting sensation making her knees shake as she stared at the sculpted planes of Mac’s naked chest. Then her gaze hit the impressive bulge in his boxer shorts and the melting sensation went molten.

How could he still have this all-consuming effect on her? All he had to do was look at her, with that knowledge, that purpose in his eyes and she got moist?

She couldn’t make love to him now, not when her emotions were all over the place. It would be suicidal.

All the way home, she’d tried to focus on what to do, how to deal with the terrifying discovery that she’d fallen in love with him. How to simplify things again and get her practical step-by-step plan back on track. But the subtle scent of his aftershave, the feel of his thigh pressed against hers in the helicopter, had drained her of all her common sense. And she was beginning to see that that had always been the case. Every single one of the decisions she’d made had been influenced by his overpowering effect on her.

She’d kidded herself into believing she was being sensible, rational, when in reality she’d been exactly the opposite. She’d let her inner nymphomaniac loose as Daisy had suggested, and now it had taken complete control of her faculties. She had to try to be practical now. But how could she when her hormones refused to co-operate?

Her fingers fisted on the towel, her back bumping against the glass brick wall of the shower cubicle as he rested his hand above her head. He was standing so close she could see the tiny flecks of grey in his irises.

‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to shower on my own,’ she said, the words strained and breathless.

His palm settled on the side of her neck, making her jump. ‘But I do mind,’ he said as his thumb glided under her chin, touching the sensitive skin like a firebrand.

She gulped down a staggered breath, felt the long, liquid tug low in her belly. ‘Please, Mac, this isn’t a good time.’ She couldn’t think with his body so close, his scent surrounding her.

He lowered his head, his eyes still fixed on her face. ‘So tell me to stop, then.’

The words stuck in her throat as he tugged the towel loose from her numbed fingers and dropped it at her feet.

His mouth covered hers as his hot body pushed her back against the cubicle wall. His chest hair abraded distended nipples and the thick evidence of his desire branded her through the thin covering of cotton as he hauled her against him with one arm.

She bucked as cold water flickered against her side. He’d turned on the shower.

He lifted his head, his lips quirking, determination and arousal darkening his eyes to a rich cobalt. ‘Who says guys can’t multitask?’

And with that he grasped her waist and lifted her easily into his arms.

‘Hold on,’ he murmured as his hands gripped her bottom, spreading her thighs wide to accommodate him.

She clung to his neck, her senses rioting as he stepped into the deluge with her wrapped around him. Cool water sluiced down her body, and fire throbbed at her core.

She struggled, trying to free her limbs and her mind from the drugging passion, the brutal arousal. But then her back thudded against the cubicle wall, trapping her against him and the thick, relentless pressure between her legs.

‘Don’t ever tell me you don’t want me.’ The light, easy tone had vanished to be replaced by a low insistent demand.

Her hands clutched his shoulders, the broad, muscled sinews bunching beneath her fingers as she tried to find the will to push him back, to hold on to her sanity.

But then he bent his head and pressed his lips to her neck. Her head fell back, like a flower whose stalk had been snapped at the stem, and her breath struggled out in staggered pants as she surrendered to the inevitable. His teeth and tongue assaulted her senses, sucking and nipping at the pulse point as desire gushed from her core.

‘I want you now—are you ready for me?’ he demanded.

She nodded, dazed and desperate.

He pulled back for barely a moment, swore under his breath and then the thick head of his erection pushed at the swollen folds. She sobbed, the intrusion remorseless, the whirlpool spiralling out of control as he adjusted her hips and thrust heavily into her.

Fully impaled, she moaned, arousal dimming with the sudden rush of fear.

She couldn’t do this. She would lose herself for ever. But she couldn’t focus, her senses spinning as all her attention riveted on the intense pleasure.

She hid her face in his throat as his fingers dug onto her hips, adjusting her into position as he began to move. She gasped at the merciless penetration, then he butted that place deep inside, forcing her to climax in a savage rush. Caught in a ferocious undertow, the pleasure faded only to surge back to life, pummelling her as his slow strokes got harder, and faster and more ruthless.

She arched back as he exploded into her on an angry shout and she surrendered to the final furious wave of orgasm.

‘Damn it.’

Mac’s muttered curse pierced Juno’s shattered mind.

Her senses sharpened as he lifted her off him. She stood on limp legs, confused and shaky, as he stormed out of the cubicle.

What had just happened?

The water splashed her shins as she watched him through the foggy glass. He still had on the drenched boxer shorts, clinging to his buttocks. He braced his arms on the vanity unit, and sank his head down, his shoulders rigid, his stance stiff with tension.

Vulnerability clawed at her. She rubbed her chest with the heel of her hand, her lungs feeling as if they were being ripped out.

Who was he? Had he ever been the man she thought he was?

Moving with care, her thighs aching, her sex tender from the fury of their coupling, she switched off the shower unit. She gathered up the towel and wrapped it around herself. Suddenly desperate to hide her nudity.

‘We’ve a problem,’ he said as she stepped out, his voice so rough she had to strain to hear it.

He turned to prop his butt against the vanity unit and fold his arms across his chest.

‘What problem?’ she asked.

Dread seeped into her stomach like a black bile as his eyes met hers, dark and expressionless. ‘I didn’t wear a condom.’

‘I…’ She tried to grasp what he was saying, but her mind could only latch onto the annoyance in his voice.

‘You’re not on the pill, are you?’

She shook her head and he swore, thrusting his hand through his hair, furrowing the wet strands into haphazard rows.

‘When was your last period?’

‘I…’ She couldn’t remember, everything inside her recoiling from the impatience, the temper in the question. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘Think. It’s important.’

Her fingers felt clammy, her heartbeat banging her ribcage. ‘I’m due soon. I’m sure I am.’

‘We can’t risk it.’ He thumped his fist on the vanity. ‘A pregnancy would be a disaster. There’s a pill you can take, right? To stop it happening.’

The black bile rose up to throttle her as his words hurled her back into memory. To a time, a place, an agony she had sworn she would never revisit. She gulped down the sob that threatened to burst out, pushed back the terrible, churning panic.

Don’t go there. Don’t ever go there.

She couldn’t be that girl again, destroyed, destitute. She couldn’t go back to that. Couldn’t spend another six years repairing her life. Survival was all that mattered now.

She gritted her teeth to hold back the swell of nausea and willed her mind to cling to the present. ‘I’ll take care of it.’ Her voice sounded as if it were coming from miles away.

She turned to leave, taking that first crucial step back from the abyss. Knowing the only way to survive now was to leave—and to never look back.

‘Juno, wait.’ Mac shot across the room.

What had he done? This was all his fault.

He’d seen the wariness, the confusion in her eyes when she’d told him she didn’t want him and he’d panicked.

But instead of seducing her, instead of stoking the passion between them and waiting for her response, the raw need had taken over and he’d lost control. He’d taken her, claimed her, pounding them both to orgasm, with no finesse and no thought to the consequences. And he’d ruined everything.

‘I’m sorry.’ He took her shoulders, massaged the chilled skin. ‘You’re not to blame for this. I am.’

He’d always known he couldn’t risk fathering a child. He stared at the backs of his hands, so large and rough against her delicate frame. His father’s hands.

She stiffened, making the tremor in her shoulders more pronounced. ‘You’re right, a pregnancy would be a disaster,’ she said. ‘But I’d rather not talk about it now.’

Why did she sound so formal, so polite?

‘Let’s go to bed,’ he said, struggling to keep his voice even as he kissed the top of her head. ‘A good night’s sleep is what we both need. And we’ll sort this mess out in the morning.’ If he could just hold her, he could make it right.

She turned, shrugging off his hands. ‘I’m really tired. I think I’ll sleep in the guest suite.’

And with that she was gone.

He took a step forward, determined to get her to come back, then stopped himself.

Where the hell did he think he was going?

He had to get a grip, to ease off, to give her some space. To give them both some space.

They’d been living in each other’s pockets for close to two weeks and somehow he’d let the company, the sense of companionship get to him. Which was exactly why he’d lost leave of his senses in the shower. If this was going to work, he’d have to learn to start backing off. And that meant not giving in to every damn stupid urge where she was concerned. One night without her beside him wouldn’t do any harm. In fact it would probably do them both a great deal of good.

Chapter Seventeen

MAC had revised his opinion a fair bit by eight the next morning, having spent a sleepless night tossing and turning in his empty bed.

Something about the way they’d parted had niggled constantly at the back of his mind. He’d been thoughtless and overbearing and she’d had every right to call him on it. But why hadn’t she been more angry, more upset with him? She’d been so calm, so controlled, and the more he thought about it, the more it unnerved him.

He had the definite feeling he’d missed something vitally important.

Juno sat at the table, finishing a bowl of muesli as he walked into the kitchen.

‘Hello there,’ he said, sounding heartier than he felt. ‘You sleep well?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ she said, so politely it made him wince. She didn’t look up.

Undeterred, he placed his hand on her shoulder, pressed a kiss to her cheek.

And she shifted away.

Damn it, what was this now? Was she mad with him after all?

He braced himself for the tirade he’d expected the night before, but she kept her head bent over the bowl and carried on scooping up the cereal in careful, precise spoonfuls.

Was she waiting for him to say something first? He sighed. Best to get it over with.

He grabbed the box of cereal, poured himself a generous helping while trying to figure out what to say without making an ass of himself.

‘I’ll apologise again for treating you the way I did last night. We both got carried away and then I overreacted and went off on one. I’m sorry.’

Her spoon stayed in the bowl. But she still didn’t look at him. The niggling got worse.

‘There was no need for you to sleep alone,’ he pointed out, rather reasonably, he thought.

Her hand lay on the table. He reached over, covered it with his. ‘How about we forget it ever happened? A pregnancy’s a long shot with you so close to the end of your cycle. And if there is one, well, then we’ll deal with it.’

He’d examined the possibility from every angle during the night—as he’d had more than enough time to think about it—and had decided to leave it up to fate. With his past, his heritage, he would never have planned to become a father, but he hadn’t been able to get the memory of Connor cradling his baby son out of his head.

In the end he’d come to the conclusion that if by some miracle he’d got Juno pregnant last night, the thought of a little boy or girl with her eyes, her sweet, practical temperament and his tenacity didn’t seem like such a terrifying prospect.

She pulled her hand out from under his and it disappeared beneath the table. He felt the tug of annoyance. Surely he’d eaten enough humble pie? He couldn’t keep apologising for ever.

‘How about we go sailing today?’ he said lightly. ‘I’ve a yacht up at the marina and it’s a beautiful day for it.’ Just the thought of her in that skimpy yellow swimsuit lying on the polished teak of the bow had his mood improving.

Her chin jerked up and she met his eyes at last. ‘I need to leave in an hour. I’m booked on the two o’clock flight from LAX. I’ve checked out the bus times and I—’

‘Whoah.’ He leapt up, the chair crashing onto the floor as her words registered. ‘You’re…What?’

She stood, picked up her bowl. ‘I should get back to work,’ she said quickly, efficiently as she walked to the sink. ‘The weekends are our busiest time. I arranged the flight when I woke up so I could be back on Friday morning.’

‘Well, you’ll have to un-arrange it,’ he said, sure his head was about to explode.

He’d let her go last night. Let her have the time she needed. But he wasn’t having this. She wasn’t leaving. He wouldn’t let her.

‘I know it’s a few days sooner than we’d planned, but it—’

He crossed to the sink, pulled her round to face him. ‘If this is about last night, I’m not apologising again.’

He was beginning to wonder why he’d apologised at all. It seemed she wasn’t at all cut up about what had happened. Why did that worry him more?

Her chin came up in a gesture of defiance. ‘This has nothing to do with last night. We always agreed this would be temporary. I’m leaving a little sooner than planned, that’s all.’

‘I know we said that, but…’ He trailed off. But what?

She stood in front of him, rigid and unmoved, and yet he could feel his insides roiling like a ship at sea. They had said it would be temporary. But somewhere along the line he’d begun to believe it was more. He’d thought she felt something for him. But what if he’d been wrong? What if she felt nothing for him at all?

And as she stood there, unblinking, her chin poking out and her back ramrod straight, he knew with a startling clarity what it was that hadn’t been right last night.

He’d told her a pregnancy would be a disaster—and with barely a hesitation she’d agreed with him. The realisation felt like an arrow shot straight through his heart.

He pulled his hand away as if he’d touched a live flame.

What a fool he’d been. Somewhere in the last ten days, he’d come to believe she thought well of him, that she thought more of him than he’d ever thought of himself. But she didn’t.

He stiffened, the pain an echo of the crushing feeling of rejection that had dogged him throughout his childhood. A bitter reminder of all those people who had taken him in, but had never wanted to keep him.

‘If that’s the way of it, I guess I can’t stop you,’ he said as placidly as possible. ‘I’ll have my PA arrange transport for you to LAX. There’s no need for you to be taking the bus.’ He put just the right note of indifference into his tone.

He was an actor. He could do this. He had his pride. And that was all that he had now.

She said nothing, her eyes downcast.

‘It’s been fun, Juno.’ And that was all it was ever meant to be. When had he lost sight of that? ‘Have a wonderful life.’

He threw her own words back at her as he made himself walk away.

For if there was one lesson he’d learned as a lad, it was simply this.

Never let them know you care.

‘Are you all right, honey? You don’t look too good.’ The check-in woman’s pristine make-up hid a homely face full of concern.

‘I’m fine, really.’ Juno managed a weak smile as she took the boarding pass in trembling hands. If she could just get on the plane before she broke down, she knew she’d be able to survive this. ‘But thank you for asking.’

She boarded in a daze, desperate not to think about anything. But the horror of her final moments with Mac kept replaying in her head.

There’s no such thing as love.

That was what he’d told Gina. And he’d meant every word. He’d never needed her. That had all been some infantile fantasy that she’d created to justify needing him.

He’d warned her not to make him into something he wasn’t and yet she’d insisted on doing just that. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have fallen in love with a man who could never have loved her back?

She’d wanted to tell him how she felt. Had even harboured some foolish, last-ditch fantasy during the long restless night that if she told him of her feelings he would declare his undying love in return. But optimism had never been her strong suit and his cold dismissal once she’d told him of her plans had doused the last flicker of hope.

Her heart wasn’t just broken, it was shattered, humiliated. Telling him she loved him this morning—and hearing what he’d told Gina—would only have humiliated her more and made it that much harder to pick up the pieces and move on.

The tears trickled down her face as she stared out of the tiny window at the vast geometric sprawl of Los Angeles. As the plane dipped into a turn she caught a glimpse of the jagged coastline and the plateau of the Pacific beyond. She imagined Mac in his magnificent glass and steel house by the sea—no doubt ready to move on to his next conquest. She wanted to be angry with him. To shout and scream and rail against the pain.

But as the jumbo’s engines surged, lifting it above the clouds, the anger she wanted to feel refused to come. All she felt was devastation, and a crippling sense of loss.

He’d told her she would get hurt. Why hadn’t she listened?

Chapter Eighteen

‘DAISY’S absolutely right, you look dreadful.’ Dr Maya Patel’s capable voice did nothing to sooth Juno’s misery, or the feeling that she’d failed herself and everyone around her. ‘Why don’t you tell me the symptoms and I’m sure we’ll be able to cure whatever ails you?’

Only if you have a cure for self-pity.

It had been four weeks since she’d come home. Four weeks since her ‘fabulous adventure’ had turned into a complete disaster. A complete disaster that she knew was entirely of her own making.

So why couldn’t she snap out of her self-pity?

She’d thrown herself into her work at the shop, making sure she had no time to dwell on the situation. She’d handled the inexplicable burst of tears when she’d had her period on her first day back. She’d deflected the flood of calls from tabloid reporters trying to persuade her to sell her story until they’d dwindled to a mere trickle. And she’d weathered the storm of emotions when a poster from the movie she and Mac had seen together had been pasted up on the huge billboard at the end of Portobello Market.

But, despite all her best efforts, the impact of what had happened kept catching her unawares. She’d lost weight, she couldn’t sleep, she was still bursting into tears at the most inopportune moments and she’d even thrown up several times in the last few days.

She’d turned into a self-indulgent misery guts and she was starting to hate herself.

And, as of yesterday, she had Daisy on her case too. Once Daisy had arrived back from her honeymoon, she’d taken one look at Juno and immediately booked her a GP’s appointment.

Of course Daisy had probed about what had happened with Mac, but Juno had been too humiliated to tell her the truth, insisting she just had a bit of a virus. In fact she’d been so convincing, she’d begun to wonder if maybe she did have a virus.

She hoped so, because she couldn’t allow herself to mourn something that had never been real a moment longer. ‘I think I may have a stomach bug.’

Maya nodded sagely. ‘You look exhausted. Have you been having trouble sleeping?’

‘Yes, a bit.’

‘Mood swings?’

She nodded. How did Maya know that?

‘How about your waterworks? Do you need to go to the toilet a lot at the moment?’

‘Actually, yes, I suppose so.’ Was the woman clairvoyant?

Maya propped her elbows on the desk, steepled her fingers. ‘Right, then, I think we should start by doing a pregnancy test.’

Juno coloured, feeling the now all too familiar sting of tears. Of course, everyone knew about her two-week affair with Mac; it had been reported in most of the papers. But seeing the compassion in Maya’s eyes only made her feel more inadequate and more depressed. ‘I’m not pregnant, Maya. I can’t be. I’ve had a period since…’ She stared at her lap. ‘Since I got back. And we didn’t.’ She hesitated. ‘We were careful.’ Almost all of the time.

‘Let’s just say you’re humouring me, then,’ Maya said firmly.

Juno sighed and nodded. What was one more humiliation to add to all the others?

‘It’s positive,’ Maya said gently, staring at the on-screen printout. ‘You’re pregnant.’

Juno sucked in a breath, feeling as if an articulated lorry had slammed into her chest. ‘That…That’s not possible.’

‘I’m afraid it’s very possible,’ Maya replied, swivelling her chair round, the sympathy in her gaze making Juno feel nauseous. ‘The period you thought you had was most likely just spotting. Was it very light?’

‘I don’t…Yes. I suppose,’ she stammered, her mind numb. She’d had twenty minutes to wait for the test to be administered and the results to come through, but she’d remained calm. This at least was one calamity that couldn’t happen.

And now it had. Tears flooded over her lids.

Maya rushed around the desk and pulled her into her arms as the first sob burst out. ‘Juno, love, don’t worry. We can sort this out,’ she said, abandoning the doctor-patient etiquette and stroking Juno’s hair like the friend she was.

‘I can’t deal with this now. I can’t,’ she whispered between the jerking sobs, tears dripping onto the hands clutched in her lap.

How could this have happened? Was she being punished? For making the same terrible mistake twice in her life? For falling in love with a man who didn’t really exist?

‘I’m calling Daisy. You’re not dealing with this alone.’ Maya framed her face in warm hands. ‘What you need is a good night’s sleep. As soon as you’ve got that done we’ll take the next step and talk through all the options. Okay?’

‘Please don’t tell Daisy,’ she blurted out.

How could she face her friend? How could she face Connor with this news?

‘That’ll be your decision,’ Maya said carefully. ‘But you’re going to need a lot of support in the next few weeks, possibly months, and Daisy’s a fantastic person to have in your corner.’

Juno nodded meekly. Knowing Maya was right. However hard it was going to be to have to admit how witless and irresponsible she’d been, she needed her best friend more than ever now.

And then another thought occurred to her. And the lorry crushed her ribcage.

‘Am I…?’ She paused, tried to breathe through the fear. ‘Am I going to have another miscarriage?’

She didn’t feel miserable any more, she felt utterly destroyed.

‘There’s no reason you should.’ Maya walked back to her desk and sat behind it, her doctor’s hat back on. ‘Lots of women have miscarriages and then go on to have viable pregnancies. But as soon as you’re ready we can give you a thorough examination, find out how the baby’s doing and talk through the possible risks.’ A small smile curved her lips. ‘So you’ve already decided to have this baby?’

Juno’s body began to shake. ‘I don’t know.’

But she did know, which only made the whole situation a thousand times worse.

Could she really risk putting everything she was—everything she hoped to be—on the line again? And could she survive what she’d been through six years ago, if it all went horribly, hideously wrong a second time?

Chapter Nineteen

‘JU, THIS is madness. You’ve got to tell Mac. Not doing so is not an option.’

Juno stared at Daisy across the breakfast bar, her mouth firming into a stubborn line. She’d been preparing herself for this argument for the last forty-eight hours, but she still didn’t feel ready to deal with it.

As expected, Daisy had been the Rock of Gibraltar ever since she’d arrived at Maya’s surgery two days ago armed with a comforting hug and a sturdy shoulder to cry on.

She’d whisked Juno back to her house, insisting she stay in the guest bedroom for the rest of the week. She’d pampered her and cajoled her and calmed the worst of her fears. Then, after she’d coaxed out most of the story of Juno’s disastrous adventure in La-La Land, she’d helped her to begin rebuilding her confidence and her courage.

Daisy had convinced her that having the baby was a no-brainer if that was what she wanted to do in her heart. She’d held her hand through the exam Maya had given her. She’d fed her, bought her enough pregnancy vitamins to stock a supermarket and embarked on a series of pep talks about not retreating back into her shell and not blaming everything that went wrong in her life on herself.

When Juno had woken up this morning with the dappled shade casting sunny shapes onto the luxury furnishings of Daisy and Connor’s spare room, for the first time in a month she’d felt able to cope with everything that had happened to her and much better able to face what the future might hold.

But the one thing Juno had refused point-blank to talk about was Mac. And Daisy had respected her wishes, until she’d broached the question that Juno had been dreading a minute ago.

She didn’t know what to say to convince Daisy to drop it.

Daisy as usual took her silence as a challenge. ‘I hate to do this, but I’m forced to point out at this juncture that you said the exact same thing to me when I fell pregnant with Ronan. I didn’t want to tell Connor and you said I had to. And while I hate to say this even more,’ she added with a soft smile, ‘you were right.’

‘This is different,’ Juno murmured, staring at her half-eaten bowl of muesli. Trust Daisy to hoist her with her own petard.

‘How is it different? Doesn’t Mac have a right to know he’s going to become a father too?’

Juno shook her head. She hadn’t wanted to tell Daisy this.

It had hurt terribly to hear what Mac had said on their last night together—because it had reminded her so forcefully of what Tony had said all those years ago when she’d told him she was pregnant—but at least Mac had been honest and made it absolutely clear he had no desire to father a child with her. The reasons why hardly mattered now.

‘If I told him, he would expect me to have an abortion. And as I’ve decided not to, I don’t see much point in telling him.’

‘How could you possibly know that?’ Daisy demanded.

Juno looked up to see her friend’s horrified expression. This was exactly what she had wanted to avoid. She had no desire to make Mac look bad in front of his family. Maybe, one day, he’d want to contact Daisy and Connor again, and she didn’t want to sour the relationship.

‘Because he told me so.’

‘Are you sure?’ Daisy didn’t look convinced.

‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Or sure enough. He hadn’t loved her the way Connor loved Daisy. So why should he want her to have his baby?

Daisy blew out a breath. ‘I find that incredibly hard to believe. But even so, how on earth do you propose to keep it a secret?’

‘He won’t contact me again.’ Of that one thing she was absolutely sure; that vain, foolish hope had died a death days ago when she’d received no word from him. ‘And I don’t think he’s going to contact you again either. If he does I’ll handle it.’

Would he want to have a relationship with the baby once it was born? The question had plagued her ever since she’d made the decision to try and carry the baby to term. She’d eventually come to the conclusion that the answer was certainly no. He didn’t believe in love. And he’d told her he wasn’t interested in playing happy families. How much more conclusive proof did she need?

‘What about the press?’ Daisy said. ‘What if they find out?’

‘They’ve moved on. No one’s contacted me in over a week. As long as there’s no sign of Mac I have no celebrity value.’ Which was one major plus.

She settled her hand on her stomach. Make that two major pluses.

‘I have to move on, Daze. I have to handle what I can control and forget about the rest. Having a healthy baby is all I care about at the moment.’ It was all she could allow herself to care about.

Mac was her past. The baby was her future. And right now she had to concentrate on not panicking herself to death. On getting through the first three months of this pregnancy safely, so she could start to get excited about the prospect of becoming a mother.

Daisy gripped her hand, squeezed hard. ‘I understand that. But we do have one other major problem on our hands.’

‘Which is?’

‘What Connor’s going to make of all this when he gets back from Berlin this afternoon. He and Mac were hardly on speaking terms when Mac took you off to LA. I’ll be honest and tell you we had a bit of a row after you’d gone to the airport. You know how overprotective he can be.’

Juno huffed out a breath. Connor was another thing she didn’t want to think about. The business trip that had kept him out of the way for the last two days had been one small blessing in the massive mess she’d made of her life.

‘Do you want me to talk to him?’ she asked. Would nothing in her life ever be simple or straightforward again?

Daisy patted her hand. ‘It’s okay, you’ve got more than enough on your plate. Leave Connor to me. But I’m just warning you, I can’t make any promises.’

Juno sighed. She didn’t expect promises any more.

A full twenty-four hours without having to deal with any major emotional upheavals would be more than enough.

Mac trudged up the steps from the beach and glanced at the pedometer on his wrist.

Ten miles. He’d run ten miles, pushing himself to the limits of his endurance after another sleepless night. And he still felt like crap. Usually the endorphins kicked in and gave him at least a small lift as he showered and changed and got ready to drive to the studio for rehearsals. Rehearsals that so far had been a total disaster. He hadn’t been able to find the character, not even a glimpse of it, for the first time ever.

Over the last week he’d been running further and further every morning but the exercise wasn’t doing the trick any more.

Stepping onto the terrace, he lifted his sodden T-shirt to wipe his dripping face. And paused to stare at the sun-lounger where Juno had often lain in the shade to welcome him back from his jog. He cursed quietly and let the T-shirt drop.

Who the hell was he kidding? The aching pain, the loneliness hadn’t got any better in the month since she’d left him. If anything it had got a great deal worse. The house that had once been a sanctuary had become a prison. Everywhere he looked he saw her. In the pool in that damn yellow swimsuit. At the breakfast table eating her morning muesli. In his bed and in the shower, her lithe body responding to his touch. She was like a ghost, taunting him to try and forget her.

It had got so bad he’d even toyed with putting the house on the market this past week. But what would be the point of that? The memories would still be there, dogging him wherever he went. He didn’t need a new home. What he needed was her.

But each time he’d picked up the phone, intending to call her and demand to know why she’d left, he’d kept coming back to their final parting—and he hadn’t been able to do it. Maybe it was pride, more likely just the survival instinct that had been bred into him as a lad, but he’d needed her to come to him. For the first few weeks he’d even fostered this stupid daydream that he might have got her pregnant and she’d be forced to contact him. But it hadn’t happened.

He slammed into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Grabbing a bottle of mineral water, he rolled the chilled plastic against his forehead. As he leaned back against the countertop his eyes fixed on the chair in which she’d been sitting the last time she’d had breakfast with him.

The hum of the air-conditioner was the only sound to break the silence. The empty silence that had started to suffocate him.

‘Stop being such a damn coward, Brody,’ he snarled into the deathly quiet.

Unscrewing the cap, he gulped down the water and then lobbed the empty bottle into the trash. She wasn’t coming to him, so he’d have to go to her.

He strode through into the living room and went to pick up the phone, then jerked his hand back when the ring tone blared out. The silly little spurt of hope that it might be Juno was ruthlessly quashed. Hadn’t he just got over wishing for the impossible?

He grabbed the handset and shouted into the receiver. ‘Brody here, who is this?’

‘It’s Connor.’

The shock of hearing his brother’s voice was so great he was momentarily struck dumb. ‘Connor?’

‘Yeah, your big brother, remember me?’

He heard it then, the brittle sarcasm, but the hope overcame his usual caution.

‘How’s Juno?’ he asked, not even attempting to disguise his eagerness for news.

He didn’t care why his brother was calling or even if the guy hated his guts. Connor lived right next door to the woman who he had just this second admitted to himself meant more to him than breathing. This had to be fate finally doing him a favour, surely.

Connor laughed, the sound harsh. ‘That’s rich. How is she? How the hell do you think she is?’

‘I don’t know how she is,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘That’s why I’m asking.’

So Connor had good reason to despise him. So what? He didn’t have time to go into that now.

‘What was it all for, Mac? Just tell me that much.’ The edge had gone from Connor’s voice to be replaced by sadness. ‘Was this some kind of payback? Did you want to punish her because you couldn’t punish me? Because if that’s the case, she never deserved to become—’

‘I’ve not a single clue what you’re talking about,’ he interrupted with a panicked shout. ‘Has something happened to Juno? Just tell me how she is, damn it.’

He was sweating like a pig, the phone slipping in his grasp. Visions of all kinds of imagined carnage running through his mind.

‘Yeah, something’s happened to her,’ Connor said, the hint of bitterness now layered with resignation.

‘What? What’s happened? Is she sick? Has she been hurt?’ If he had to ask again he was going to climb down the phone line and throttle Connor himself, brother or not.

‘I’d say she’s both,’ Connor replied. ‘She’s pregnant, with your child. Which she’s decided to have even though she’s scared to death. And she—’

Mac slapped the phone onto its cradle, cutting Connor off. He’d not heard much after the second sentence anyway.

Juno was pregnant, with their child, and she hadn’t told him? She’d be at least a month gone by now—and yet she hadn’t once thought to pick up the phone? Did she think so little of him, then? He forced the anger forward to dull the pain. He didn’t care what her reasons were any more.

She was his. She always had been. He should never have let her cut him out of her life in the first place. And he’d be damned if he’d let her cut him out a moment longer.

Chapter Twenty

‘WHERE’S Juno?’ Mac hurled the question at Connor as soon as his brother opened his front door. ‘The old girl next door said she’s staying with you.’

He pushed past his startled brother but was stopped in his tracks by the irate shout that followed him down the corridor. ‘Get the hell back here. You’ll not come barging into my home without an invitation.’

He turned to see Connor stalking towards him in his stockinged feet, his face furious.

Great! Fantastic! He’d spent a good part of the last eleven hours on the red eye from LA nursing a blistering headache and letting his anger stew. If his brother was spoiling for a fight he was more than happy to oblige.

‘I don’t need your invitation to speak to the woman who’s carrying my child.’ He ground the words out. Whatever issues his brother had could damn well wait.

‘Think again,’ Connor shot back, the steely determination in his face brooking no argument. ‘She’s not here.’ He shoved a door open and pointed inside a darkened room. ‘Now stop shouting, get in there and calm the hell down or you won’t get to speak to her at all.’

Sure he could feel the steam pumping out of his ears, he stalked into the room Connor had indicated. What right did his brother have to treat him like a sulky child? As soon as he got Juno’s whereabouts out of the sanctimonious bastard he was going to give him both barrels.

‘Sit down,’ Connor ordered, pointing to the leather couch.

Mac folded his arms and stood his ground. ‘Say what you’ve got to say and then tell me where she is.’

‘Sit the hell down, before I throw you down,’ Connor shouted back.

His hands bunched into fists until his knuckles whitened. But after a second’s debate, he cursed loudly and sat on the sofa. Beating the crap out of Connor wasn’t going to help him find Juno. More’s the pity.

‘So what is it you want?’ he snarled, then realised he sounded like a sulky child.

Damn it.

‘I want to know what kind of man you are. That’s what.’ Connor sneered, his eyes narrowing. ‘I want to know what kind of man has unprotected sex with a woman, then doesn’t even have the decency to find out if he’s got her pregnant or not.’

It wasn’t like that.

He wanted to yell back, the injustice of Connor’s accusations making his head throb and his stomach revolt. But the guilt that had followed him around for most of his life choked the words off in his throat.

‘You know what kind of man I am,’ he said, his voice cracking. ‘Do you think I don’t know what you think of me? What you’ve always thought of me, ever since we were lads together in that stinking hole. You think I’m a selfish, irresponsible bastard. I get it.’ He sunk his head into his hands, to release the screaming tension in his shoulders.

Anyone who said confession was good for the soul didn’t know what the hell they were talking about.

‘I’ll grant you, that was true then,’ he continued, forcing the words past lips dry as a desert. ‘But it’s not true any more.’ He raised his head to meet Connor’s eyes. ‘I want Juno back. I think I’m in love with her.’ He blew out a breath, the words taking him by surprise. ‘That’s why I’m here.’

It took him a moment to realise the contempt in Connor’s face had turned to astonishment.

‘You think I blame you for what happened? When we were kids?’

‘I know you do,’ he replied. ‘That’s why it was your wife invited me to the wedding and not you.’ Why was Connor prolonging the agony?

‘Mac, that’s ridiculous.’ He sat down, settled his hand on Mac’s shoulder. ‘I never thought any such thing. I always thought it was me to blame. If I hadn’t gone out that night. If I hadn’t been so determined to keep it all a secret. We could have got help. I could have stopped him.’

‘But you told the social worker you never wanted to see me again after we were split.’ Could it really be true? That his brother didn’t hate him after all?

‘Because I felt so ashamed,’ Connor replied. ‘I saw you that night on the stretcher, unconscious, your face all bruised and bloody, your arm cut up and bent out of shape. I couldn’t get it out of my head. You were my little brother, barely ten years old. I should have been there to protect you and I wasn’t. It crucified me for years.’ Connor shook his head, the bitter regret in his voice releasing something black and ugly inside Mac and setting it free at last. ‘Until I met Daisy and she made me see, it wasn’t our fault, it was his and the things the drink did to him.’

He pulled Mac into a brief one-armed hug.

‘I should have told you years ago. And you’re right, it should have been me invited you to the wedding,’ he murmured against Mac’s ear before letting him go. ‘But I was too much of a damn coward. I’m sorry, Mac.’

Mac saw the genuine love in Connor’s eyes and realised he’d found his brother again. In fact he’d never even lost him. He drew in a sharp breath through his nose. Perilously close to making an idiot of himself.

‘Apology accepted,’ he murmured. ‘But we best stop this now, or we’re going to start weeping all over each other like a couple of girls. And I don’t know about you, but I’ve an image to protect.’

Connor chuckled. ‘Don’t give me that—you’re an actor. Don’t you cry all the time?’

Mac raised an eyebrow. ‘Keep it up, pal, and I’ll have to hurt you.’

Connor just laughed, the low amused sound reminding Mac of their relationship as boys. Connor always determined to look for the best in everything and him always brooding about what would go wrong. He’d missed having him in his life.

Connor stood up and walked to his desk. ‘Now we’ve had our Kodak moment—and established the fact that you know how to cry like a girl,’ he said lightly, ‘we need to talk about Juno.’ He propped his butt on the desk and crossed his legs at the ankles. ‘So you love her, do you? Are you sure about that?’

The anger and temper kicked back in at the careful question. But it wasn’t directed at Connor any more.

‘I know it took me far too long to figure it out. But yeah.’ He nodded, more sure of himself than he’d been in years. ‘Yeah, I do. And I want to put things right. But it’s kind of tough when I don’t have a clue whether she loves me back or hates my guts. She didn’t want to tell me about the baby, and that’s not making me feel too hopeful.’

‘Don’t look at me.’ Connor shrugged. ‘I can’t tell you whether she loves you or not. Daisy had to hit me over the head with how she felt before I got the picture.’ He paused. ‘But there are a couple of things I know that you don’t. According to Daisy she’s been miserable since she got back from LA, so she’s certainly not indifferent to you.’

Mac was fairly sure that wasn’t a glowing endorsement, but right now he’d take it. ‘What’s the other thing?’

‘What do you know about a guy called Tony?’

The deep-seated anger that had smouldered ever since he’d first heard the name leapt into flame. ‘That the guy raped her when she was only sixteen. And that I’d like to hunt him down and strangle him with my bare hands.’

‘You and me both,’ Connor said grimly. ‘Daisy told me the story, but there’s a fair bit more to it than that. Which may explain why she didn’t tell you of the baby. Juno’s smart and capable, but she’s also much more fragile than she appears. I guess you know you’re the first guy she’s been with since him?’

Mac could feel himself flushing as he nodded.

‘Don’t underestimate how big a point that is in your favour. She trusted you, Mac, and that counts for a lot after what she’s been through.’ Connor reached round and grabbed a pen and a notepad from the desk. He drew a few quick lines, made a couple of notes, then tore off the page and handed it to Mac. ‘She’s over at the store at the moment. Here’s a map. It’s not hard to find from here.’

Mac took the page, stared at the roughly drawn street plan. He wanted to see her again, desperately, but he was starting to realise healing the twenty-year rift between him and Connor had been the easy part. He stood and folded the note into the back pocket of his jeans. ‘Thanks.’

‘Get her to tell you the rest of it, Mac. But hold on to your temper, for God’s sake. And be honest with her about how you feel.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘It’ll be good practice for dealing with my new niece or nephew when they arrive.’

Mac nodded and strode to the door, the thought of the baby and Juno and the enormous mess he had to sort out if he was going to set things right making his head hurt again—and his heart pound.

‘Mac, one more thing,’ Connor called after him.

He glanced round with his hand on the doorknob.

‘Put in a good word for me when you’re finished. Juno’s going to murder me when she finds out it was me who blew the whistle on her.’

‘Forget it, big brother,’ he said, trying to find some small scrap of humour to ease the tension. ‘After that crack about me crying like a girl, I’ll be setting her on you myself.’

Chapter Twenty-One

JUNO took a sip of the fennel tea that helped to steady her stomach and typed the next line of numbers into the calculator.

Who would have thought she’d ever enjoy doing a VAT return? She pressed her hand to her stomach and took a deep breath of the pleasantly musty air. She hadn’t puked once this morning, and, while doing the bookkeeping in the haphazard mess of Daisy’s workshop probably wasn’t ideal, being back at work had been a major boost. As Daisy had refused point-blank to let her go front of house on a Saturday, which was always their busiest day, she’d settled for number crunching in the back room and was finding the monotonous, methodical work surprisingly soothing.

Life was finally starting to look up. She’d had the baby’s heartbeat checked this morning at Maya’s surgery and had been able to count off another day towards her three-month mark and the point when she could start making plans for her and the baby. And the sun was shining through the tiny window, making the dust motes glitter.

All she had to do now was focus on achievable goals and let everything else take care of itself. Maybe she’d never been destined to have a happy-ever-after with the man of her dreams, but if she was very lucky she might have something every bit as good in eight months’ time.

She heard the door open. ‘Just a minute, Daze,’ she said as she typed the last of the August suppliers’ receipts into the calculator.

‘You should have told me about the baby.’

Her head shot up at the deep, husky voice—and all the breath sucked right out of her lungs.

‘What are you doing here?’ she whispered. Surely she had to be hallucinating.

He stood by the door, his tall, broad-shouldered frame in worn jeans and a Cal Arts T-shirt making the cramped room look even smaller.

‘I came to talk,’ he said calmly, his eyes raking over her face, the intense blue making her breath catch. ‘Among other things.’

He stepped towards her, but she shot out of her chair and moved back. ‘Go away. I have nothing to talk to you about.’ She couldn’t go through this, not again. The yearning, the longing and the knowing it had never been real.

‘That’s nonsense and you know it.’ He skirted the table and she retreated another step, backing into a rack of dresses pushed against the wall.

‘Why don’t we start with why you walked out on me?’ he said as he continued to bear down on her. ‘And then we’ll move right along to why you didn’t tell me about our child.’

‘Why would I?’ she said as a rage that she hadn’t even known was inside her rose up to batter her chest. ‘Why would I tell you about a child you don’t want?’

There could only be one reason he was here. One reason he’d flown all the way from LA. The sickening realisation had fear sprinting up her spine.

She tried to dash past him, trapped and desperate to escape. But he stepped into her path and wrapped an arm round her waist. Hauling her into his arms.

‘You’re going nowhere until you explain that statement,’ he said, holding her easily as she tried to struggle free.

She lifted her fists, pummelled his chest. ‘I’m not having an abortion. You can’t make me.’ Tears blurred her eyes, the fear growing like a tempest.

‘Juno, stop it, it’s nothing like that.’ He took the blows and tightened his arms until her attempts to hit him became futile and she struggled uselessly in his embrace.

‘I won’t do it. I won’t. Leave me alone. I hate you,’ she cried out.

But it wasn’t Mac she saw any more, it was Tony, the sneering contempt, the smug indifference on his face. And then the last of the rage, the fury, drained to leave nothing but bone-melting exhaustion, bitter sobs racking her body.

‘Shh, Juno, don’t take on so.’ His voice seemed to come from a great distance away as he lifted her. He took the seat she’d vacated and cradled her limp body in his lap. His hand brushed her cheek, pushed the hair back from her face. ‘I never told you to have an abortion. And now you’ve fallen pregnant, an abortion is the last thing I want.’ He covered the hand fisted in her lap.

She shifted, trying to get off his lap, but his arms held her in place.

‘You told me to take the morning-after pill,’ she said. ‘What’s the difference?’

He cursed softly and gave a heavy sigh. ‘Ah, hell. That was a stupid knee-jerk reaction, said in the heat of the moment. Don’t hold it against me now.’

‘Why would you say it if you didn’t mean it?’

His eyes flicked away.

‘I’d always believed I could never be a father. That I might have the same thing inside me, the same weakness my own father had.’ He hesitated. ‘But now I can see how foolish that was.’ He looked back at her, squeezed her hand. ‘I want to be a father to this baby. Do you believe me?’

Seeing the truth in his eyes, she felt emotion swell in her chest. ‘Yes.’ She huffed out a breath, resigned to telling him the rest. ‘But there’s a good chance there might not be a baby.’

‘Tell me what happened, Juno,’ he said gently, brushing his thumb across her cheek. ‘Because I’ve a feeling it wasn’t only me you were fighting a moment ago?’

Her bottom lip trembled perilously. She supposed she owed him this much. She’d accused him of something he’d never really said. ‘I got pregnant,’ she said simply. ‘After…After the night with Tony.’

‘I see,’ he said. ‘That’s not all, though, is it?’

She shook her head, wondering when he’d become so perceptive.

‘My parents were furious. They wanted me to get rid of it. Said I’d made a foolish mistake. And I had.’ She gulped the tears down, determined not to cry. This had all happened so long ago. Wasn’t it about time she got over it? ‘But I couldn’t do it. I moved out, I wanted to prove them wrong. I got a room at Mrs Valdermeyer’s. I had all these silly dreams. I would have the baby and Tony would be overjoyed and tell me he loved me and…’ She swallowed; it all sounded so idiotic now, like a little girl playing house. ‘I went to his work to tell him. He was furious, told me if I was pregnant I better get unpregnant. He picked up the phone to arrange an abortion, and I just ran off. I never saw him again.’

‘That bastard.’ She could hear the sympathy and anger in his voice, drew strength from it.

‘Two days later, I had a miscarriage. A spontaneous abortion, that’s what the doctor called it. It was for the best, I understand that now. I wasn’t mature enough to have a child. But it seemed so final, so cruel at the time. As if the baby was made to suffer for something I did.’

‘Juno.’ He sighed, threading his fingers through hers. ‘Don’t do that now. Don’t punish yourself for something that you had no control over.’ A lopsided smile tugged at his mouth. ‘It screws you up. A very wise young woman made me realise that a while back.’

As she sent him a weak smile she felt the last traces of guilt leave her heart. Until all that remained was the distant ache of grief for the child she’d lost.

He rested a palm on her midriff, warming her through the thin cotton of her dress. ‘So what does the doctor say about this little one? How careful do we have to be?’

The ‘we’ had her pulse skittering, but she pushed back the spurt of hope. One thing she’d promised herself in the last month was that she wouldn’t yearn for the impossible. Just because he cared about the baby, just because he wanted to be a part of its life, didn’t mean he wanted anything more.

‘Maya says everything’s progressing normally. She seems pretty confident. Once I get to the three-month mark, we’ll know for sure.’

‘So that’s good news, right?’ The spontaneous grin made his dark, handsome face look impossibly boyish and the pang of longing squeezed her heart.

She nodded and climbed off his lap, desperate for distance. She still loved him, so much, but she couldn’t let it cloud her judgement again.

He stood behind her. ‘So where do you think you’re off to?’

She turned to face him, determined to focus on the reality, not the fantasy. ‘I can email you, when I have my antenatal check-ups,’ she said, sweeping her hair behind her ears. ‘How long are you planning to be in London?’ When he said nothing, simply stared at her, she hurried on. ‘I have my first ultrasound at ten weeks. If you like I could give you a schedule. Although the first one’s probably not worth coming all the way from LA for.’

A schedule? What on earth was she on about?

Mac frowned, sure he’d slipped into an alternative reality. Hadn’t they just established that they were going to be doing this together? As a couple?

‘There’ll be no need for me to come over from LA as you’re coming back with me.’ Her mouth had dropped open but he soldiered on. Surely she would see this was the obvious solution. ‘Luckily the whole cast is in rehearsals at the moment, so the director can work round me for a week or so. If that’s not enough time for you to settle things here, we could maybe make a short trip back before shooting starts in October? But you’ll not be travelling alone. And that’s final.’ On some things he intended to be absolutely firm.

‘I’m not moving to LA. My life is here.’

He huffed out a breath. He supposed he could negotiate. If he absolutely had to.

‘I’m not meaning to be a dictator about this. But I’m under contract and my current project is shooting in the US, so it makes sense for us to be based there for the next six months. But after that I’m a free agent. I’ve no more projects I’m committed to. And I’m at a place in my career where I can call the shots.’ He placed his hand on her crown, stroked it down her hair, enjoying the soft silky texture and feeling positively magnanimous. ‘We can move back here before the baby’s born. I could buy a place in Daisy and Connor’s street if that’s what you want.’

In fact the idea had considerable merit now he’d thought of it. He and his brother had a fair bit of catching up to do.

She ducked out from under his hand, but instead of looking pleased, and grateful, she looked upset. ‘Who said we were going to be living together?’

The question threw him completely. ‘Of course we will be. What else would we do once we’re married?’

‘Married?’ she all but squeaked. ‘I never said I’d marry you. In fact you haven’t even asked me!’

‘True enough.’ He grasped her hand and pressed a quick kiss on her knuckles. In his eagerness to get things sorted he’d missed a fairly important step. Luckily it was easily remedied. ‘Will you marry me, Juno?’

She tugged her hand loose. ‘No, I will not,’ she shot back so succinctly he knew he hadn’t misheard her.

‘Why the hell not?’ he said back, his head throbbing again. Why was she being so damn contrary? ‘I love you and you love me. And you’re having my baby. What else would we do but get married?’

She looked as if he’d slapped her, and suddenly his good mood plummeted into the abyss. Once she’d told him the horror story about Tony and her miscarriage, once he’d explained why he’d said the things he had and apologised, the relief had been enormous. He’d just assumed that everything would be okay, that she must love him, that their parting had all simply been a hideous mistake.

But had he put two and two together and made five?

What if she didn’t love him after all?

And did he have the guts now to lay his feelings bare, knowing they might not be returned?

‘You love me?’ Juno quashed the desperate surge of hope, of love. Was it true, or was this just another role he was playing? For the baby’s sake? ‘Since when do you love me?’

‘Since…’ He paused, raked a hand through his hair. ‘Since for ever, I guess. It’s always been there, I was just too stupid to see it.’

Well, that wasn’t exactly convincing.

‘But it’s been over a month and you never contacted me.’ A miserable thought struck her and she felt as if her heart might be breaking all over again. ‘How did you know about the baby? Was it Connor? That’s why you came, wasn’t it? Because Connor told you I was pregnant.’

She saw the guilty knowledge in his eyes and wanted to scream. If only it could have been true. If only he could have loved her. But she wasn’t going to live a lie. Not ever again.

And next time she saw Connor, he was a dead man.

‘This never meant more than great sex to you,’ she said, when he didn’t respond. ‘I heard what you said to Gina. I know you don’t believe in love.’

His eyes narrowed and instead of the shame she’d expected to see, she saw annoyance. ‘So that’s what the silent treatment was about that last night?’ He didn’t sound too pleased about the discovery. ‘I never said that to you, I said it to Gina. And if you hadn’t been sneaking around and listening to what wasn’t meant for you to hear you wouldn’t have known of it.’

He wasn’t putting this on her. ‘That’s not the point.’

‘Grand! Well, how about this for a point?’ He stepped forward, forcing her back into the dress rack. ‘What I said to Gina’s no bearing on anything. I would have told her I was gay if it meant she’d stop pestering me.’ His eyes swooped down her frame. ‘And while I’ll admit that the sex has certainly been great between the two of us, and I plan to have a lot more of it…’

She felt the liquid heat pool between her thighs at the husky promise.

‘It’s only a small piece of what I feel for you. And another thing. I’d decided to come before Connor rang me.’

‘But it still took you a whole month to do it!’ she said, aghast at his gall. How naÏve did he think she was? She straightened her spine. Faced him down. ‘Don’t patronise me. I’m not some sad, pitiful little creature you have to pretend you’re in love with, Mac.’

His jaw dropped; he didn’t look annoyed any more. He looked astonished. ‘Er, hello? Since when have you ever been sad or pitiful? You’re the strongest, smartest, most resilient woman I know. And every damn time I tried to patronise you, you wouldn’t let me get away with it. So you’re not holding that against me now.’

Good grief. Her heart stuttered and stumbled.

Was it possible he really did love her?

Delivered in that curt, irritated voice with not one ounce of his usual charm and eloquence, the surly compliment had to be the most convincing she’d ever heard. And the most wonderful. But even better than that was the feeling of power, of entitlement that gripped her. He never had patronised her. It was the truth. Because she’d never let him.

He was the most charismatic, the most gorgeous, the most overpowering man she’d ever met and yet they’d always dealt with each other as equals. He’d challenged and provoked her and driven her completely nuts—while liberating her body, and setting her spirit free.

‘You really do love me?’ She still couldn’t quite believe it. Did she really get to have her dreams come true?

He swore viciously, not exactly the epitome of anyone’s dream man. ‘Haven’t I just got through telling you as much? Now stop mucking me about and tell me whether you love me back.’

She saw the vulnerability in his eyes, heard the exasperation and uncertainty in his tone, and all the love and longing and joy she’d tried so hard to hold back cascaded through her like a river in full flood.

Thanks to all the tragedies and traumas they’d had to face in their lives, all the insecurities they’d carried around with them, they’d put each other through hell.

But now, at long last, they’d found their way to heaven.

She flung her arms around his neck. Clung on. ‘Oh, Mac, I don’t just love you, I adore you.’

His rigid shoulders relaxed as he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off her feet. He buried his face against her neck, blew out a staggered breath. ‘Thank you, God.’

He sounded so relieved, she laughed.

He lifted his head and pinned her with a dark look. ‘It’s not one bit funny. You just took ten years off my life.’

‘Sorry,’ she said, not feeling remotely apologetic. ‘Will I ever be able to make it up to you?’

His hands massaged her bottom, pulling her tight against the hard evidence of his arousal. ‘Well, now,’ he said, the sensual tone turning her knees to jelly. ‘Give me a minute and I’m sure I’ll think of a fitting punishment.’

But as his mouth lowered to hers and her fingers curled into his hair…

Daisy burst through the door.

They jerked apart.

‘Mac, you can’t come barging in here. Juno’s not ready for this,’ she panted, shooting Mac an accusatory look. She turned to Juno. ‘I’m so sorry, Ju. I was at the deli picking us up some lunch. I didn’t know he was here. Are you okay?’

Juno was momentarily speechless, never having had the chance to feel like a naughty schoolgirl before.

‘She’s fine. In fact, she’s ecstatic,’ Mac announced crossly as he hauled Juno back into his arms. ‘Now scram, sis.’

Juno let a giggle slip out at Daisy’s astonished expression.

‘Oh, my goodness.’ Daisy clapped her hands, her eyes shining with glee as her brain finally processed what she was seeing. ‘You two made up! This is phenomenal.’

‘It’ll be a lot more phenomenal when you get lost.’ Mac’s disgruntled reply sounded for all the world like an annoyed big brother.

Daisy lifted up a hand in surrender as she scurried backwards out the door. ‘I get the picture. I’m scramming. In fact, I was never even here.’

The door closed on a muffled thump, the sharp click of the lock echoing in the small space.

‘Now where were we?’ Mac murmured, lowering his head for a second time.

Juno pressed a finger to his lips, struggling to grab hold of a little sanity amid the tidal wave of joy. ‘We can’t make love in here,’ she gasped, the thrill racing up her torso making it hard for her to breathe. Let alone resist. ‘It would be…’ What? ‘Really impractical.’

‘Darlin’,’ he drawled, nipping her fingertip, ‘that practical nature of yours was the first thing I fell in love with.’ He chuckled, his questing fingers flipping up the hem of her dress and slipping beneath the waistband of her knickers. ‘But you’ll have to trust me on this.’ He cupped her buttocks. ‘Sometimes impractical works every bit as well.’

Twenty-five glorious minutes of pure pleasure later, and she had to concede he had a point.

Epilogue

‘HERE, let me.’ Connor took the flower out of Mac’s trembling fingers in the musty quiet of the church’s antechamber. ‘Calm down, man. You look as if you’re about to be shot, not marry the woman of your dreams,’ he said as he threaded the flower stem into the buttonhole of Mac’s wedding suit. A smile curved his lips as he pinned the flower into place. ‘I thought no Hollywood star worth a damn got stage fright.’

‘Ha, ha,’ Mac said, not amused by the smug tone. He brushed damp palms down the fine linen of his suit, the nervous gesture doing nothing to ease the apprehension tying his guts in knots. ‘I don’t get stage fright.’ Or at least he hadn’t until now. ‘That’s for amateurs.’

But he was an amateur at this, he thought miserably. He’d had seven months to prepare for this moment and he still felt scared to death. What if he wasn’t any good at being a husband? Being a father? As he’d watched Juno’s small, delicate body ripen with his child over the months he’d been on a merry-go-round of pride and excitement and bonenumbing terror. How would he live with himself if he failed at the only thing that would ever really matter in his life?

He took a shallow breath, tugged on the shirt collar that was threatening to cut off his air supply.

‘So what’s the problem, then?’ Connor said quietly, the smug tone gone. ‘You’re not having second thoughts, are you?’

Mac gave a half-laugh. ‘Are you kidding? I need her so much it hurts.’

And that was the problem, right there.

At Daisy’s insistence, he’d had to spend the night without Juno in his arms for the first time in seven months and he hadn’t slept a wink. He’d tried to sneak in and see her this morning, but Daisy had shooed him away from the chÂteau suite with some rubbish about it being bad luck. And now here he was a nervous wreck for the first time in his life. He wanted to put his fist through a wall but knew it wouldn’t help.

The only thing that would calm his nerves was seeing Juno walking down that aisle towards him and knowing he deserved her.

‘What if I muck it up?’ he muttered, more to himself than Connor.

‘All you have to do is stand there and say I do,’ Connor replied easily. ‘Just be glad you’re not the one has to wear the frock and walk down the aisle in five-inch heels. And, rest assured, I’ll give you a good solid kick if you forget to speak at the relevant moment.’

Mac forced a half-hearted smile, grateful for Connor’s attempt to lighten his mood, even if it wasn’t working.

The last time he’d wanted something this much, he’d been ten years old lying in a hospital bed, alone and scared and in pain and desperate to have someone there to care about him. He hadn’t got what he wanted then.

‘I’m not talking about the wedding,’ he mumbled. ‘That’s the easy bit. I’m talking about the marriage. What if I muck that up? What if I make a mistake? What if she decides she doesn’t love me after all?’

It was his greatest fear and the minute he’d said it he felt as if he’d exposed a part of himself he’d never intended to expose. But Connor didn’t laugh or crack a joke or make fun of him, he simply gave his head a rueful shake.

‘You’re not going to muck it up, Mac. You’re a good man, and you’re going to be a great husband and a great father. Just watching you with Ronan is proof of that.’ Connor rested his hand on Mac’s shoulder. The reassuring weight eased the tension in Mac’s stomach for the first time in months. ‘Juno is happier than I’ve ever seen her. She believes in you—and with good reason.’ Giving Mac’s shoulder one last squeeze, Connor lifted his hand. ‘All you’ve to do now is start believing in yourself.’

Mac swallowed, the sweat drying on his palms at the complete conviction in Connor’s voice.

Juno believed in him. She trusted him. Amazing as it seemed, it was true. He let his mind wander back over the last seven months and thought about how she’d shown him she loved him, so many times, in so many different ways.

When she’d grabbed his hand and pressed it to her belly so he could feel the baby kick as they’d been sitting on the beach in Laguna one lazy Sunday this spring. When she’d told him not to be a pompous idiot and then seduced him in the shower a month back after he’d voiced his concerns about their continued lovemaking in her condition. When she’d flung her arms around his neck and demanded he carry her over the threshold the morning they’d moved into the house round the corner from Connor and Daisy’s. And when she’d laughed delightedly as he’d pretended to stagger with her in his arms while he walked into their new home.

The look of steady, abiding love in her eyes every one of those times and a million more was the only thing that mattered now. So long as he focused on that, he’d be able to figure out the rest.

‘Okay. No more panic attacks, I swear,’ he said, letting out a deep breath and feeling as if a ten-ton weight had been lifted off his shoulders. ‘Thanks for the advice.’ He smiled at his brother.

‘Not a problem. It’s all part of the best-man service,’ his brother said, smiling back.

The loud chimes of the chapel bell ringing the noon hour interrupted them.

‘Damn it.’ Connor glanced at his watch. ‘Is that the time already? We better get you out there.’ He patted his pockets and pulled out the twenty-four-carat-gold bands Mac had bought seven months back as soon as Juno had accepted his proposal. ‘Great, right, we’re all set,’ he said, slipping the wedding rings back into his breast pocket and wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

Mac chuckled as Connor hustled him out of the antechamber.

‘Calm down, Con,’ he said, his confidence returning as they walked into the tiny French chapel where he had once ogled Juno in her maid of honour gown. ‘No best man worth a damn gets stage fright, fella.’

He laughed as Connor cursed and shoved him into position at the front of the church now packed to the rafters with Hollywood A-listers and market-stall holders alike, all dressed in their best to wish the happy couple well.

Mac crossed himself, clasped his hands together and looked over his shoulder, eager for Juno to make her entrance. He just wanted to get this over with now so she’d be his for ever.

A satisfied smile curved his lips and he sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

Damned if he wasn’t going to have a wonderful life after all.

‘I still can’t believe you insisted on doing this when you were eight months pregnant. It’s completely mad,’ Daisy remonstrated for about the twentieth time in the last ten minutes. She stood up, propping her hands on her hips. ‘Right, you can take a look now,’ she said, whipping the sheet off the cheval mirror in the church rectory. ‘But I’m taking no responsibility whatsoever if you expose a nipple while you’re walking down the aisle.’

Juno took in her reflection and laughed. Daisy’s cream silk creation flattered her ripening figure with sleek, simple lines but dipped so low at her cleavage she blinked. ‘Oh, God.’ She clasped a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. ‘I see what you mean.’

‘I did warn you your boobs would get enormous,’ Daisy said, and huffed out a breath. ‘I still don’t understand why you and Mac couldn’t wait until after the baby was born. It would have been so much simpler.’

Juno turned to her friend and gripped her hand, the grin she’d been sporting for a good seven months getting wider by the second. ‘Not for us,’ she said simply. ‘You know how nervous Mac’s been getting in the last few weeks.’ She felt emotion tickle the back of her throat at how desperately he’d been trying to hide it. ‘He’d have gone into a complete tailspin if I’d made him wait a minute longer. He practically had a fit as it was when I told him the church wasn’t available till April, way back in October. He would have kidnapped me then and there if I’d even hinted we wait until after the birth.’

The memory of how desperate he’d been to get them safely wed still had the power to make her heart quicken.

Daisy stifled a giggle herself. ‘Having seen the look on his face this morning when I told him he couldn’t see you, I guess you have a point.’

The bells of the noon hour rang out across the small vestry.

‘Oh, dear,’ Daisy said, the teasing tone turning to consternation. ‘I had to promise Connor we would not be fashionably late, so he wouldn’t have to physically restrain Mac from storming down the aisle to get you.’ She gave an apologetic smile as her eyes dipped to Juno’s cleavage. ‘But that means I won’t have time to find some lace to preserve your modesty.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Juno said, still smiling. ‘The dress is gorgeous. And if the worst comes to the worst and I end up flashing the minister we’ll just have to hope he doesn’t have a heart attack or Mac really will kidnap me.’

They both laughed.

Daisy sobered first. ‘God, Ju.’ She clasped Juno’s hands tight, tears sparkling in her eyes. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

‘Why?’

‘Remember how panicky you were at the prospect of wearing that maid of honour gown when we were last here? Since then you’ve blossomed into the beautiful butterfly you were always meant to be. And it’s all your own doing.’

‘No, it’s not. It’s Mac’s too,’ she said, sniffing back tears of joy. ‘Anyone can be beautiful when they know they’re loved.’

As she walked down the aisle towards the man of her dreams and saw the love shining in his eyes—and the flare of arousal as his gaze drifted to her cleavage—her heart soared. How could any one heart feel so full and not burst? she wondered.

A week later, sore and exhausted after a demanding twelvehour labour, Juno had her answer as she watched her husband of eight days hold his tiny baby daughter in his arms for the first time.

‘So what do you think of her?’ she whispered, her voice weary, her heart full to bursting again.

His eyes met hers over the bundle cradled so carefully against his chest, his gaze filled with pride and awe and unconditional love.

‘You did well, Mrs Brody. She’s the most gorgeous baby in the known universe.’ A single frown line wrinkled his brow. ‘Although I may have to give you both a lecture on not missing your cue.’

She laughed, recalling how frantic he’d been when he’d woken up in the middle of the night to find her panting through her first contractions, three whole weeks early.

‘I’m sure I’ll do much better next time,’ she teased, and watched the colour drain out of his face.

‘Now, now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,’ he said forcefully. ‘It’s going to take a considerable time for my heart rate to get back to normal after this little one’s arrival.’ But then he glanced down at his daughter and grinned. ‘But at least Daddy’ll die a happy man, won’t he, darlin’?’

Juno sighed as she sank into the pillows and her husband settled next to her with a besotted smile on his handsome face.

Her heart soared into the stratosphere, but still didn’t burst—and she realised why.

I guess you just get used to being this happy.

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

First published in Great Britain 2009
Harlequin Mills & Boon Limited,
Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

© Heidi Rice 2009

ISBN 978-1-4089-1345-1

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

About The Author

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Copyright